The Grim and the Reaper
by Junichiblue
Summary: Ichigo never expected a thank you. He never expected him at all. Grimmjow returns to reap his pound of flesh. Now trapped, injured, and alone, Ichigo must choose. Fight or be killed. Can Ichigo win? Or will the last Espada simply self-destruct? Grim/Ichi
1. Mundane things and private moments

**SUMMARY: Ichigo never expected a thank you. He never expected him at all. Grimmjow returns to reap his pound of flesh. Now trapped, injured, and alone, Ichigo must choose. Fight or be killed. Can Ichigo win? Or will the last Espada simply self-destruct? The two hybrids must face off against one another, and come to terms with their most primal instincts before it's too late. Rated M for swearing, violence, gore, and graphic sex. Grimmjow/Ichigo.**

**It's not nearly as dark and serious as it sounds. So if that puts you off, give it a shot because it's more lighthearted than my summary suggests!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach. That honour goes to Tite Kubo. I don't make money from this. All I want are reviews.**

**This is my first story. (aside from the one-shot I just posted) It's taken me eight months to finish. All I want in return is feedback in the form of reviews.**

**Please Review! Write just one word - or as many words as you want! Helpful criticism and positive feedback are all welcome. I'm learning to write and I'd like to get better, so anything you say will make me deliriously happy!**

**To the people who already reviewed up to chapter four: I accidentally deleted my story and never got to read my four reviews. I'm ripping my hair right now out for that bit of idiocy! So if you did review already... uhmm... so like... could you do it again? =.=**

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Grim and the Reaper<span>**

**...**

**I came to cut you up  
><strong>**I came to knock you down  
><strong>**I came around to tear your little world apart  
><strong>**I came to shut you up  
><strong>**I came to drag you down  
><strong>**I came around to tear your little world apart  
><strong>**And break your _soul_ apart**

**Garbage - Vow**

**...**

**Chapter One**

**Mundane things and private moments**

His world had been decimated.

The creature that stalked its way through the twisted rocks and endless sands was the last of his kind. He was unique.

And he hungered.

He approached the Hollow silently, walking on the air inches above the ground to avoid the crunch of sand underfoot, until he stood directly behind it. The Hollow scratched the space where an ear should have been with long serrated claws, then ambled off, never turning back, never knowing the predicament it had been in.

Good. He had honed the art of reigning in and suppressing his spiritual pressure, at least when he kept himself calm, which was always an effort in itself. And as long as you didn't get too close, he could remain virtually invisible. This was the edge he needed to slip into the human world undetected. Not that he particularly gave a rat's ass about who picked up his reiatsu and wanted to die. But there was something he wanted to deal with first, a fight left unfinished, and any further interruptions would be intolerable.

He was ready to leave this dead world behind for awhile, and have himself some fun.

* * *

><p>Kurosaki Ichigo had no idea how fast his weekend plans were going to turn from the promise of ease and relaxation to total shit.<p>

A jagged outline of disorganized orange hair jutted out from beneath the edges of a light layering of sheets as Ichigo finally began to stir, his faced buried deeply between two exquisitely comfortable velvet soft breasts.

Breasts?

No. Not breasts. Just his pillow.

Lashes fluttered and slowly separated, revealing an unfocused pair of muddy brown eyes, that once cleaned of morning debris, would look refreshed after a restful night. He lay there for a long moment as his vision cleared, and breathed deeply, his body and mind filled with a profound sense of peace and calm. Everything in his world was right. And for once it wanted nothing from him.

Today there was nowhere he needed to be and nothing he hadto do. Aside from Kon, it was just him and an empty house.

Except for Ichigo, it seemed that everybody had left town. His family and friends had departed already for a weekend getaway three hours away from Karakura. His father had even paid for some of the hotel rooms, a very special treat in particular for the lovely Orihime who was like part of the family these days. His dad was always inviting her over for dinner. As if two kid sisters weren't enough. Ichigo enjoyed having her though. She was a really nice girl and she didn't have a family like he did.

Well she could _have his_ if she wanted to. Ichigo snorted. They'd begged Ichigo to go, begged him, but it was that stupid spiritual show, "Drop-in Holy Ground", and Ichigo would rather spend the weekend with _Kon_ than get sucked into another round of "Bo-ha-ha", and suffer the humiliation of being called Don Kanonji's "number one student". And _that_ was saying something.

Ichigo shook his head. _Drop-In-Holy... of all the..._

Even Urahara Kisuke and his group had gone. As far as Ichigo was concerned, everyone in his town had gone insane.

A rare smile made its way onto his face. Except for Kon, he was completely alone, and the weekend was all his. He had plans for it too. He wasn't the kind of teenager who would sit in front a TV for hours on end, or fidget from boredom, or succumb to a sense of general ennui. No way.

Kurosaki Ichigo _did_ things, sometimes ordinary mundane things that needed doing, and sometimes things that were decidedly un-ordinary.

The weather reports had declared two full days of sunshine and warm temperatures, a nice change from the previous day's rain. Though it had bothered him intensely after his mother had died, Ichigo didn't mind the rain so much anymore, because after the rain stopped everything looked brighter, crisper, greener. Rain was a necessary trial. It was part of the balance of things. For plants to grow healthier and stronger, they had to first weather the storms.

The strength of the human soul was no different. Into everybody's life, a little rain must fall.

It was fair to say that Kurosaki Ichigo, only 17, had been pelted by more than his fair share of rain. But without it he wouldn't be the young man he was today. His strength was born from being pushed down, begrudged and attacked. The seemingly endless string of bloody battles he'd endured had served to push him to his limits, and sometimes beyond. He'd even died. Several times. That was something he still sometimes couldn't quite wrap his brain around, or rather, he just chose not to. What was the point in thinking about things like that. Death happened when it happened.

"_Retreat and you will age. Hesitate and you will die._" That was what his zanpakuto had told him. So that's what he tried to do. The few times he'd actually dwelt upon defeat, people had noticed and quickly straightened him out. And they weren't at all kind about it either, much to Ichigo's annoyance. During one crisis, his friends had gathered at Urahara's Shoten to come up with a plan. Ichigo had had his ass handed to him in a fight the day before. He'd been quiet, brooding, depressed, and frankly sulking like a child who'd had his toy taken away, when a crazy man, riding a hog, had suddenly smashed his way into the shop... and had called Ichigo a "depressed bastard."

And Urahara had hid a grin behind his fan and waved a hand over his nose, declaring that 'now that he'd come to notice it, the shoten just reeked from all of Ichigo's moping.' Ichigo had lost it at that. In the end they had been right though, and they had helped him through it. But still... that smarmy bastard had a real way of pushing Ichigo's buttons.

Ichigo brushed aside his thoughts that had wandered like wind up toys with no clear direction or destination. He arched his back and extended himself fully into a deep and slow stretch, the shifting covers brushing over the lean muscles of his bare upper body.

His mind blanked, as something else, a basic need, growing more insistent, urged him to reach under the sheets, knuckles skimming down along the warm skin of his toned abs and the heat pooling beneath them, to where a morning erection waited impatiently for release. The root cause of it was the dream. Images, no faces, just roundness, touches, and wetness.

_The pillow that wasn't breasts_ had given him quite a problem.

Yes, Ichigo did things, sometimes ordinary, mundane things that needed doing, some of them decidedly private.

* * *

><p>What a fucking joke.<p>

That he still wore that white uniform, long after their supposed _lord_ was defeated and gone... che.

Aizen. Just another too-powerful megalomaniac and a pompous asshole. Not even worthy of the breath it took to say his name. He'd lost them everything. Destroyed the natural order of things... and hijacked _his_ own succession.

He shook his head. That was the past now, as much as he could let it be.

He stood silently now between two worlds, clothed in the familiar material, hating the association it held, what it represented, but comfortable enough in the feel of it, and its casually revealing design. Couldn't deny that it suited him. Hell he _made_ it look good.

He hadn't worn the uniform in awhile. At least now he could _choose_ to wear it, or not. Some days he didn't, just strolled around Las Noches, naked as the day he he was born... re-born. He didn't give a flying fuck. And the fates, bitches, having turned out the way they **did, meant** he was alone with himself most of the time anyway. Except when he stalked his prey and devoured them.

He sank into a low, comfortable crouch on the edge of the dark precipice that loomed over Karakura, reaching out for the one he sought, the one he was going to kill, waiting for the sonic ping, the image of that blue flame that stood out in such bright contrast against the others, the one that burned, shiny and tantalizing, and lured him in.

He looked down at the town far below, colours fading, caught in the edge of night. Traces of memory still lingered, vague sounds and images, from some distant forgotten lifetime. He had felt it the first time he'd crossed over. This world held an odd familiarity, one that lingered always at the edge of his awareness, and which he purposefully ignored as irrelevant, much like the mask that so prominently adorned one side of his face, the sensation of it going mostly unnoticed by him, but still undeniably there. He never put it together, the meaning behind the feeling, that he was young for a former adjuchas, so very recently alive, human, and that he had evolved quicker than most, not unlike the Shinigami counterpart he loathed so much.

He adjusted the sleeve of his vest, rolling it back up from where it had slipped down his arm. He wondered why he had ever bothered to put his uniform on at all in his desolate homeland. Modesty? Unlikely. He could have dispensed with clothes entirely if he'd wanted to. None of the creatures there would have cared either way, and neither did he. Not that there would have been anybody around to see him anyway.

An empty minded Hollow wouldn't have even registered the concept of nudity. But there could be other powerful adjuchas or Vasto Lords out there, somewhere far from where he was. Perhaps that was the reason he slipped into his white hakama whenever he set out to hunt, in the vague hope that he might come across another intelligent creature, one that would recognize just who he was, and would know who was about to devour its soul before it died.

Every un-living thing had deserted Las Noches for miles around when the fighting had started, and for miles more when Ulquiorra had burst through the ceiling and released his monstrous energy into the skies and sands of Hueco Mundo. Like a supernova, the remnants of that energy still existed and nothing it seemed would come anywhere near the place now. A fact that now made hunting a royal pain in the ass.

Somewhere in the vast plains of sand, there were probably other younger Vasto Lords slowly coming into their own, on their own evolutionary journey. He wondered if maybe some day they'd replace him, that some day in the distant future he would die a weak, old arrancar. Would he even grow old? He wasn't sure how it worked, nor had he ever given it much thought, until now. Every Hollow he'd ever encountered had either died as something else's dinner, usually his, or it had been destroyed in battle. Now the old King of Hueco Mundo... he was an old fart for sure... but had he really been ageing or had he always looked like that? Hell if he knew.

Wait. The hell was this shit? Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez did not age. He lived by the sword. And when he died, it would be fighting in battle.

Dammit. He rubbed his hand roughly down his face, over smooth skin and rough bone, as if he could physically scrub away the distracting thoughts.

These were the kinds of thoughts that had been raping his mind, circling like hungry predators and drawing ever closer for all these long months, going around and through and over again. Sometimes he thought of killing the substitute Shinigami and other times he thought of this dismal depressing shit. His mind just kept dwelling on pointless things, obsessing, and confusing him. It was all but driving him out of his fucking mind.

And when he was confused and upset, he did what he did best. He got angry.


	2. Mess you up

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Mess you up**

He didn't care that it was only 8:45pm and a Saturday night, or that the August sun, though resting lightly on the horizon, was still technically out. He was _so_ ready for bed, and nothing in the world was going to disturb his sleep. Kon had been warned. He was downstairs right now watching TV, probably trying to find porn or at least some sort of adult programming with beaches and very little clothing. Poor bastard. What do you do when you're a horny modified soul stuck inside a teddy bear's body? Well you can take advantage of your human host whenever he needs you to house sit. That's one way to deal with your raging libido.

_That_ idea had never sat well with Ichigo and he had taken Kon aside several times to have some serious heart to hearts about hormones, girls, and how smearing Ichigo's good name or worse, ending up in jail, would result in a swift and brutal death for the mod soul.

Ichigo himself still hadn't actually had a girlfriend. Oh they seemed to like him well enough, not that he'd ever noticed a year ago, and he did like girls. It's just that the ones he knew he only saw as good friends. And honesty, who had the time to meet a nice human girl and start dating when you spent that many hours out of your own body, fighting death gods and demons, and saving the world from one of the greatest evils ever to grace Soul Society?

Well he had the time now.

Tomorrow was Sunday and his schedule was clear. He might head down to the beach, join in on some volleyball or just laze on the sand and people watch for a bit. He might even meet a nice girl there. Or he might not. And that would be fine. He was far from desperate, just curious. Either way he was determined to have a great day. Falling onto his back and yawning widely, with thoughts of warm sun, and lapping waves, he fell into an easy sleep in minutes.

* * *

><p>Ichigo bolted upright. Something was wrong.<p>

He reached out, feeling for the source of the disturbance with his ever shaky pesquisa and… bingo. Hollow.

A strong one too. Dammit all to hell. He turned and looked at the glowing numbers on his alarm clock; 8:59pm. Seriously? Did Hollows have watches? Did they time it so they could screw with his perfectly laid plans? Well screw them back. It wasn't his job anyway. He huffed in irritation and twisted himself around, pulling the covers with him, and burrowed into his pillow, determined to ignore the Hollow's presence.

A minute passed and the feeling itched at him. It really was a strong Hollow. That Shinigami with the big hair was a nice enough guy and all but he wasn't the most adept. He might need help, if he was even around tonight. And once again Ichigo's damn sense of responsibility was going to ruin his plans. Well shit.

He could probably be there and back in under 20 minutes. He might even get a much needed workout from it and sleep better for it. There. He'd gone and talked himself into it like the wizbrain that he was.

Well then he'd just sleep in an extra half hour in the morning. Ah tomorrow. Nothing was going to ruin his Sunday.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes came and went and Ichigo was pissed.<p>

The Hollow had indeed been a strong one, even more so than he had first suspected, because it had popped into the world way out at the furthest edges of Karakura, and the edges of his pesquisa. It had taken him nearly 8 minutes just to shunpo all the way out there. The only bright side was the lack of people and buildings in this more rural part of town. There were only a few houses scattered loosely nearby. Ichigo had finished up in a small industrial park; which would be empty on a weekend evening, all the workers probably at home, some even in bed, which was exactly where Ichigo wanted to be. Dammit.

Well he was getting his workout. No question about it. This Hollow was an ugly nasty little piece of work, not strong in the physical sense, and not terribly large, but wily and quick and armed to the teeth. And the stupid thing had been leading him on an exhausting chase, darting here and there, launching reiatsu-based spikes at him, like some sort of supersonic hedgehog on speed. The most infuriating part of the whole escapade was that it had left him fucking panting. He was seriously out of shape.

With Aizen gone, and after the cosmic dust had settled, Ichigo had told the Gotei 13 and his friends that he didn't want to get caught up in any more Shinigami affairs. They'd gotten along without him just fine for eons anyway. They'd agreed of course, adding that if he ever needed anything he knew how to look them up. That was eight months ago.

So they had largely parted ways and he had begun to settle back into a relatively normal life. He was happy to help out and kill the Hollows that were unfortunate enough to have found themselves in his neighbourhood, but that was it. He had a life of his own to live.

He had retained most of his powers after Aizen's fall, losing what he had gained in the severing world, even regressing back to the time before he had entered Las Noches and mastered his Hollowfication. He remembered how to fight though, even without the power levels to back himself up. He was still a Visored, still in control of his Hollow, though he hadn't put that mask on again more than a few times since returning home. And that disturbing tinny voice hadn't echoed through his mind once.

A quill nicked his shoulder, pulling him out of his reverie, and he cursed soundly. That was it. He was done with these games. Movement to his right, another volley of quills, and Ichigo shunpoed up and over the dangerous projectiles, coming down right on top of the little shit, sword arcing down and slicing easily into its hideous mask.

The Hollow began to sizzle and disappear and Ichigo threw his head back and sighed loudly in a mixture of relief and frustration. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, and caught his breath. He was furious at himself. How was he going to protect anything in this sad state. How was he going to maintain the balance of living a normal life and still keep his spiritual body in top fighting form. He shook his head. He still wanted his Shinigami powers. He had some things to think about it seemed.

He straightened out and tensed his muscles, about to shunpo the eight minutes back home, probably ten with how he felt now, when he thought he sensed another Hollow. _You've got to be kidding me_.

Ichigo tilted his head and frowned. This wasn't just a Hollow. It had to be miles away but this reiatsu felt familiar... more like a Visored. But the Visored had scattered after the war, no longer in need of hiding. Ichigo growled in frustration, as he struggled to put his finger on the new spiritual pressure.

It was weak but getting stronger, distant but closing in fast. Ichigo blinked. Fast was and incredible understatement. The owner of this dark reiatsu was breaking the sound barrier and he was coming in hot. Ichigo could feel the pressure in the air growing steadily, pressing in against his body, easily as strong as his from this distance, maybe stronger, as the reiatsu bullet closed in.

"Nanda?" He groaned, and released his zanpakuto again. "What the hell now?"

A second passed and he was suddenly aware of just how quiet the street around him had become. Not even a cricket chirped. It was as if Karakura itself was pulling itself into the shadows, huddling in fear. The hairs on almost every part of his body stood on end, and a powerful wave of reiatsu poured over him, crashed through him, a warning, dangerous and angry. Memory flashed and his head snapped up, every muscle suddenly fully alert, tense. This was Hollow reiatsu and definitely not a Visored. So… what else could it be but… Arrancar. Were there even still Arrancar?

Ichigo's brain was suddenly an utter scrambled mess. But instinct was a powerful tool and as his hind brain kicked in, his body took a defensive stance, zanpakuto rising up tip to sky in front of him. He squinted up and across the sky, towards the side of town that the last of the light from the sun still touched, trying visually, almost frantically, to pinpoint the source of the power. That much power, from that much distance. And it was still growing. Then he saw it, a tiny dot against the sky, growing larger, until it was close enough that he could just about make out...

Blue.

Memories stirred like an angry hornets nest.

Holy fucking hell.

It couldn't be. But it was. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

He doubted his senses. He doubted them completely. Grimmjow had died, badly injured by Ichigo and mortally wounded by Nnoitra. The last Ichigo had seen of him, he'd been flat on his back, unable to move, turning deathly pale, vast quantities of his black blood soaking into the sands of Las Noches. Ichigo had barely spared him a glance as he had sped past to rescue Orihime and challenge Ulquiorra. He couldn't. He had someone important to save.

This. This was not him. It couldn't be Grimmjow. He. Was. Dead.

Almost entranced, Ichigo watched as blue suddenly shifted to red, flaring out like a flame. The information trickled lazily through his brain, thick and molasses and slow. Then time seemed to speed up again as realization hit him and he snapped back into reality.

Cero.

The eerie whine reached his ears a split second before the deadly beam of energy struck, the cero exploding a few meters from where Ichigo had just been standing, leaving a monstrous crater in the middle of the road and devastating the buildings around it.

When the dust finally settled, Ichigo wasn't there. He'd shunpoed just out of range a fraction of a second before the destructive power would have obliterated him. It was an odd feeling, but as close as it had been, he felt sure that Grimmjow hadn't actually meant to hit him.

Nope. That was probably just a friendly hello from an old friend, a warm greeting considering the nature of the person behind it. Grimmjow could have just sent him a card. "_Hi Kurosaki. I'm still in Hueco Mundo. Having a shitty time. Wish i could see you, but I have to go die somewhere._" Ichigo would have wholeheartedly preferred that.

But here he was, descending to the pavement in front of Ichigo, in all his glory. A man who everyone believed dead, very much alive.


	3. Caught off guard

**Chapter Three**

**Caught off guard**

"Evening Shinigami." He stood there casually with his hands lost somewhere in the deep pockets of his loose white hakama, as if they were about to have a civil conversation.

Ichigo was silent, his tongue lying thick and forgotten somewhere in the back of his throat.

"What's the matter, Shinigami? Cat got your tongue? You look like you've seen a ghost." He tilted his head one way, then the other, and sneered.

"Grimmjow." When he finally found his voice, Ichigo's tone was distinctly unfriendly. Grimmjow despised him. Ichigo shared the sentiment. He fought to control the shaking in his voice. "You're dead." It was a demand. A desperate plea. A blatant lie.

The Shinigami clean-up crew hadn't found any trace of Grimmjow, and based on Ichigo's description of Ulquiorra's disintegration, and the state of Grimmjow's injuries when Ichigo had last seen him, they had concluded that the Sexta Espada must have met a similar demise. They had thought the same of the 5th arrancar, Nnoitra, who had been slain by 11th squad captain, Kenpachi. Nnoitra's body hadn't been found either.

"You really think a couple of cuts and scratches (_or a sword through the heart you fucker_) would be enough to bring me down, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

Ichigo shook his head in denial. "Nnoitra's attack..."

"Che. Piss on him. They ain't found a way to kill me yet, Shinigami." Grimmjow took his hands out of his pockets and flexed his muscles, body tensing with coiled energy. Ichigo could see that he was just spoiling for a fight.

"What the hell do you want, Grimmjow?" He scowled, his body language becoming every bit as unfriendly as the Espada's.

"Well, I ain't fucking here to talk, Shinigami."

To drive home his message, the Sexta bolted forward and threw a strong left hook at Ichigo's face. Caught off guard, the teen barely managed to dodge it, feeling the air brush past his cheek. He quickly distanced himself, Zangetsu at the ready, and demanded an answer.

"You're here just so you can fight me again? For real Grimmjow?"

"I'll tell you what, Shinigami. You kept Nnoitra's sick ass off of me, and you said you'd fight me whenever I wanted. I owe you one, and so I'm only coming after _you_, not your friends and family."

Shit! What kind of fucked up logic was that? Ichigo's mind raced but there was no way he could follow Grimmjow's damaged train of thought.

"Ain't I good to you Kurosaki? You better thank me now, 'cause you won't be able to later."

It made perfect sense to Grimmjow. He wouldn't use Ichigo's friends or family as bait to kill him. He'd seen the results of that already, the powdery dark stain on the roof of Las Noches, the bits that didn't just blow away.

He didn't want to risk tangling with that _thing_ that wasn't Kurosaki, that thing that had walked all over Ulquiorra. No way. Grimmjow was sadistic but not suicidal. He'd learned something about his own limits. Just because he hated someone, fucking Quatra, didn't necessarily mean he could beat them in a fair fight.

"I am _not_ going to fight you, Grimmjow." Ichigo dropped Zangetsu's large blade until its tip touched the pavement. His heart beat wildly in his chest, threatening to break out from behind its protective cage of bone. Apparently he had a suicidal streak that he hadn't been aware of until now.

Grimmjow stepped towards Ichigo, stalking him like a large, predatory cat, slowly closing the distance Ichigo had put between them, wondering how long the Shinigami would dare to hold himself unguarded. He seemed to have a death wish. Grimmjow was more than happy to grant it.

The teen watched the graceful movements of the Espada as he edged closer, with a strange mix of loathing, horror, and ultimately a sense of fascination so completely consuming that he almost forgot that he should be doing anything about it. There was a certain captivating grace and fluidity in his movements when he fought, and in the way the Espada had always carried himself, that Ichigo had only understood when he had finally seen him in his released form.

Beautiful or not, Ichigo knew he was dealing with one seriously pissed off tomcat.

Grimmjow moved closer still. He had come for a rematch, to settle things between them, and if he himself died in the process, well, that was just the penalty for losing. He hadn't _technically_ lost last time, because the fight was never really over until somebody died. One of them _was_ going to die here tonight, and he didn't intend to lose this time.

Grimmjow sensed it now, though, the change in Ichigo's power. Normally the kid oozed spiritual pressure, his reiatsu always leaking out unchecked. Had the Shinigami finally learned to control his spiritual pressure, he wondered, the same way Grimmjow had? It still felt rough and untempered, licking at his senses in a taunting, teasing fashion, but the strength of it, the power that should be there, wasn't. Maybe he'd just regressed and wasn't worth fighting anymore. That couldn't be right, though. Shinigami didn't regress. Only adjuchas did. Perhaps the Shinigami just needed a gentle push like before.

He was about to ask him what his effing deal was, but as he got closer, he saw it, _that look_. That kid had that fucking look on his face that said he was better than Grimmjow, that the Sexta was going to be beaten, wasn't worthy, wasn't a king at all. And suddenly, with renewed determination, and as sure as the moon never wavered from its spot in the night skies of Hueco Mundo, the Espada wanted to kill him dead.

And it still wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.

Whatever Grimmjow thought he saw in Ichigo's eyes was twisted by his own neurotic ideas of power and respect. What those brown eyes really held was instinct and determination, and no small amount of stone cold fear. This wasn't the same feeling Ichigo had had that day eight months ago. He'd had friends around to support him then. His heart was with them.

Now here he was, caught completely off guard in the middle of an empty street in Karakura, in the passing dusk of nightfall, completely alone. Pissing himself.

Grimmjow had already drawn Pantera before he'd fired his first cero because Ichigo was strong and he would need it, but his injured pride wouldn't let him use it now, and he casually replaced it as Ichigo watched in confusion.

"I don't need my sword to beat you," he said darkly. "Besides..."

Ichigo braced.

"I prefer the hands on approach."

The substitute Shinigami brought Zangetsu up easily in time to block Grimmjow's bare arm, the sword coming to a blistering stop against his powerful hierro. Ichigo's muscles shook with effort as they pushed against each other, locked together for a moment, faces mere inches apart.

"Better get your Bankai out," the Espada whispered with a twisted parody of a flirtatious grin. With that he sonidoed behind him and kicked him hard enough across the back to send him tumbling down the street, asphalt splitting apart with an echoing crack wherever his body made contact.

Grimmjow watched from where he stood as the flash of telltale blue energy lit up the buildings around the space where the Shinigami had finally come to a stop. At least he was in Bankai now. Grimmjow scowled. Why was Kurosaki always such a pain in the ass to fight? He was so goddamn stubborn and resistant. Fucking brat. There was only one more thing left to make him bring out and then they could really get things started.

He was about to sonido after him, but instead he stopped and held himself in place as an unexpected scene unfolded in front of him. He watched, bereft of words, as Kurosaki Ichigo came stomping back down the street in his Bankai and waving the tip of his pointy black sword at Grimmjow, not stopping until he was standing directly in front of the Espada and yelling at him.

"What the hell is it with you? You became the Sexta Espada, one of the top ten most powerful beings in all of Hueco Mundo. Now that they're all gone you're the strongest. You're freaking powerful, Grimmjow!"

The teen was so pissed off that he'd turned red in the face. For a split second Grimmjow's rage vanished and he almost wanted to laugh out loud.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? To get rid of everyone who looked down on you? And you still want to fight me? What is your frigging problem?"

Ichigo was furious. That bastard, Grimmjow, thought he could just show up uninvited and start shoving Ichigo around like some schoolyard bully, because really, wasn't that all he was in the end? Well, Ichigo wasn't having any of it. He needed to stop this before things got out of hand and half of his town ended up being destroyed.

The Espada only smiled lopsidedly and tilted his head, his voice deceptively calm.

"So, you really wanna talk? Fine. How ya been? How's the family? Doing well?" With a speed too fast for brown eyes to register, he rotated his body fully around, his leg sweeping upwards in a graceful arc, slamming into Ichigo's ribs and spinning him, forcing him to claw at the reishi in the air around him to catch himself as he tumbled through the air over the street. The Espada followed.

Well, shit. That hadn't worked. Grimmjow's fighting style may have been unpredictable, but his disposition remained as reliable as ever. As far as Ichigo was concerned, the arrancar was a temper in search of a tantrum.

"You kept fighting to gain more power, Kur-o-saki," Grimmjow finally replied flatly as he moved through the air towards the teen, hate running undisguised and rampant in the way he emphasized his name. "Well, so am I."

"I did it to protect my friends and everyone I love. What's your excuse?" the orange haired teen persisted.

"Or have you just got nothing _better_ to do – _arrancar_?"

Ichigo cringed inwardly at his own caustic reply. He had intended to try and talk his way _out_ of a fight with the Espada, not antagonize him. He bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from egging him on. He had a feeling he was only going to keep digging himself another foot further into the ground every time he opened his mouth. He just couldn't keep the snide remarks from rolling off his tongue. This always happened to him when he was around Grimmjow. They were like fire and ice.

Grimmjow stilled, then bristled.

Ichigo tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade. Well, it appeared he had hit a nerve.

Brown eyes remained locked with azure in a battle not to look away. A tense silenced reigned, and it seemed to Ichigo that Grimmjow wasn't going to muster an answer. The arrancar was almost motionless until he finally bared unnaturally sharp teeth and spoke so slowly, so dangerously, his tone edged with such a cold fury that it sent every inch of Ichigo's skin crawling for safety.

"You looked down on me back then." His jaw muscles tensed and twitched. "And you're still doing it now. You piece of shit." He tilted his head slightly, and with a sharp jerk, audibly cracked his neck. "That ain't happening... any more."

_Shit. Shit!_

Grimmjow vanished with a low sizzle as the air rushed to fill in the space where he'd just been hovering.

Ichigo's mind whirled, his head whipping around in a panic, adrenaline flooding into his heart, throwing it into overdrive. Memory flashed; he was standing in star littered black sky high above the lights of Karakura, then there was pain, disorientation, falling from the sky, colliding with hard concrete. It was their first fight, all over again.

In almost the same instant that he'd left, the arrancar reappeared behind Ichigo, lashing out with a powerful roundhouse kick aimed for his head. Ichigo barely had time to raise his sword to block the attack. Grimmjow's foot struck the blade broadside, the sword deflecting some of its energy, but it wasn't enough to keep Kurosaki from being thrown back and pushed off balance.

Grimmjow was a vicious opponent, a natural fighter, brilliant in hand to hand, relentless in his attacks. Ichigo's defensive abilities had always been strong, but his own forte lay in his speed and brute strength, neither of which seemed to be enough tonight. The Sexta had it in spades over Ichigo in a dirty street fight, throwing bruising punches and bone breaking kicks at random. He was hard as hell to read, and with more than enough strength to back it up and make it sonofabitch hurt so you didn't forget. Lord knew Ichigo had certainly tried to forget.

Ichigo knew he couldn't win. He wasn't at the level he needed to be at to take on the arrancar and actually walk away unscathed, or at all if the ferocity of Grimmjow's attacks were anything to go by. What Ichigo lacked in strength without the full use of his mask, he made up for as much as he could with speed, and his familiarity with Grimmjow's fighting style.

He knew the arrancar would be quick and dangerous, and he couldn't afford to show Grimmjow just how far he'd regressed. He could only hold his mask for about twenty seconds after the war and he hadn't trained more than a few times with it since. But he could, if he was careful, release it early, before it began to crack, and use it again seconds later. It was a ridiculous way to have to fight, but the technique was his only choice. If Grimmjow realized how weak he really was, he would drop all his defenses and focus entirely on the kill. That scenario sent a surge of panic through him. He had his life back and he wanted to keep it.

Ichigo dragged slender fingers down in front of his face and formed his Hollow mask.

A feral grin slowly stretched out across the arrancar's angular face, sharp teeth and slit eyes making him look almost rabid with the desire to kill.

"No one's around to help you this time, Kurosaki Ichigo."

Ichigo's heart skidded as he was momentarily pinned by that familiar, and haunting, predatory look, one that could only come from a very cruel and very dangerous thing.

Grimmjow lunged. Ichigo tried to block. And blood began to rain in thick droplets from the sky.

* * *

><p>The Espada rained down on the Shinigami, landing blow after devastating blow to his face and chest. Ichigo felt the mask beginning to give and in desperation slashed at the Espada's legs. Grimmjow dodged but not before the sword ripped through the fabric of his hakama.<p>

Ichigo leapt far back and released the mask. _Great._ So far he had succeeded in cutting the Espada's hakama to ribbons. Very helpful.

He donned his mask again as Grimmjow appeared above him, just in time to deflect part of a cero before the rest of it engulfed him. It was like being in an oven, hard to breath, as Ichigo and cero plummeted towards the earth, the force of it sending him crashing into the pavement below, smelling of singed flesh and fabric.

The Espada followed, landing easily on three limbs in the crater where Ichigo lay panting and struggling to get up, his right arm already raised to deliver a lethal blow to Ichigo's body. Ichigo rolled, dodging the blow by a hair, and Grimmjow's fist smashed into the street instead, the skin over tight knuckles splitting apart on impact. The teen backed away warily. The Espada held his fist up to Ichigo, inspecting it with interest, as a singled tear of blood ran down the back of his hand.

"Oh look, Shinigami. You finally made be bleed."

Ichigo took that moment to remove his mask again, while Grimmjow taunted him.

Grimmjow flicked his hand clean of blood and growled. Kurosaki was trying to piss him off. The way he kept choosing to fight without his mask, pulling it on and taking it off at random... it was an open insult to the Espada.

Grimmjow's rage was palpable, an ugly frenzied thing exploding with a life of its own now, feeding on his adrenaline, the blood and the pain, consuming him until all he knew was the screaming of his Hollow soul. He was going to cut him, bruise him, bleed him, break him... watch him struggle, hopeless and defeated at his feet... then cero him into oblivion.

Ichigo watched in alarm as the last of Grimmjow's thin veil of control finally cracked. There was mayhem in his eyes. And it was a race as Ichigo reached for his mask once again, the Espada determined not to let him pull it on this time. If the kid was going to play games with him, then he was going to fuck him up six kinds of ways. Grimmjow sonidoed forward, grabbing the sharp edge of the zanpakuto that swung out to greet him, ignoring the lance of pain as it bit into the softer skin of his palm. It wasn't deep at all, barely a scratch, and the small annoyance was more than worth it to get at the kid.

Ichigo swore as his attention was split between reaching for his mask and trying to fend off the attack with his zanpakuto. Sword pushed aside, the Espada collided with the Shinigami and they both tumbled to the ground, rolling in a tangle of limbs along the unbroken pavement until they came to a sudden stop, Ichigo thoroughly pinned beneath the Espada.

Ichigo glared fire into Grimmjow's eyes in the fading light. Those eyes. Cobalt and full of hatred. Every line of their owner's body screamed savage and feral. Grimmjow returned the teen's look twice over and growled with a predatory hunger that he could not have contained if he'd actually tried to.

There it was. There was that fear he'd been looking for.

Brown eyes widened as the Shinigami started to squirm underneath the arrancar, struggling almost frantically to grasp Grimmjow's hands in order to keep himself from being ceroed or pummelled into the asphalt by those fists... again. And suddenly, he had them both in his hands, muscles flexing as he pushed against the weight of the Espada. For a split second Ichigo felt the smallest sense of relief, but as he watched the grin spread across Grimmjow's partly masked face, reaching up into those malevolent cobalt eyes, he realized that his small victory had been won far too easily.

Grimmjow laughed once, short, sharp, and then he head butted him. Concussion, coma, broken neck... he didn't care. This piece of shit was dead. He just didn't know it yet.

Ichigo bit his tongue as his head bounced once off of the hard concrete, and gasped as pain lanced through his skull from both sides, the coppery taste of his own blood filling his mouth. The single Espada above him instantly split into two, and Ichigo shook his head to clear his vision and rid himself of Grimmjow's double. One was enough, thank you.

He released his grip on one of Grimmjow's hands and pushed up abruptly against the other. One hand freed unexpectedly, Grimmjow lost his balance and toppled off of Ichigo, and they both scrambled to regain their footing. Grimmjow was faster. He grabbed an unstable Ichigo by his orange hair, hauling him upright, and struck him closed-fisted across the face, all the force of his grudge behind the hit. A strangled sound and a spray of blood from a split lip was Grimmjow's reward, and he began to laugh shrilly.

He had so much more to say to the Shinigami, and he expressed his feelings towards Ichigo with another savage swing, the sharp uppercut uprooting Ichigo and sending him reeling thirty feet into the air. The teen didn't make a sound any louder than a grunt at the pain. There was no way he was going to give Grimmjow any more satisfaction than he already had by letting him hear his suffering.

Ichigo dragged his fingers through the air to slow himself. He had to get his mask on again, or he was done. But Grimmjow was there again. He was just everywhere. And Ichigo was slowing down. The Espada grabbed the teen by the arm and heaved on it, twisting it around behind his back and wrenching his shoulder into an unnatural position in the socket, enjoying the exquisite pain he was causing him. Ichigo did scream then.

Ichigo's cry of agony fell on deaf ears. There was no mercy here. The Espada only increased the pressure on his arm and Ichigo began to see black spots as the pain overwhelmed him.

"Well, come on, Shinigami," Grimmjow purred into his ear. "You're not even fighting back. Don't be so pathetic. Don't you want to tear me apart anymore?"

He used his leverage to force Ichigo around to face him, then released him and shoved him back. Then without even a twitch to telegraph his next move, he spun around and caught the teen across the midsection with a savage kick.

There was a sickening crunch and an anguished cry as Grimmjow's foot sank deep into the teenager's ribcage, bending bones and cracking them easily with the sheer strength and speed of his attack. Ichigo breath exploded from his lungs in a sharp wheezing burst of wet air and blood, and a searing bolt of pain shot through him as felt his ribs shatter. The blow sent him rocketing through the air towards one of the darkened buildings below as the last traces of light finally vanished, swallowed up by the gaping maw of night.

The Espada dropped any pretence of defense that he may have had, and he threw his head back towards the sky in a shameless bray of laughter, arms stretched out and muscles flexing as an intoxicatingrush of adrenaline surged through him, leaving him feeling pleasantly giddy. God, how he had missed this. The smell of Kurosaki's blood, the battle, the heat, the pain, the release of power. It was all so fucking arousing.


	4. Tear your little world apart

**Chapter Four**

**Tear your little world apart**

He had aimed to send his prey through the window. But he went through the side of the building instead, missing the window completely. Grimmjow bared razor sharp teeth in a feral grin and laughed cruelly. Even better. Sometimes it was the little things that he appreciated the most.

Ichigo crashed through the wall, hit the open floor and rolled several times, until the he was able to plant his feet and free hand, and slow his momentum, the floor squeaking under him as he skidded to a jerking stop. Coughing on the dust in the air, he grunted and shook his head as he took stock of his injuries. Crashing through concrete didn't actually hurt as much as one thought it would. It was the goddamn re-bar underneath, the reinforced steel beams that were a bitch.

Oh God, he was hurting. He could feel several of his badly fractured ribs threatening to break right through, blood was seeping into his shihakusho from several deep and stinging cuts, and his muscles burned in places that would soon be turning ugly shades of blue and black. Or they would if he survived.

Resolve was everything to Ichigo. It was key to his victories. Almost every violent encounter he'd had in his Shinigami days had ended in his favour only because he had hardened his resolve in the face of defeat. But in this moment, he barely even had a chance to form a cohesive thought, let alone muster up the resolve to defeat this supposed-to-be-Hollow-food arrancar. After eight months of trying to be a relatively normal human teenager, and dispatching the occasional Hollow, he wasn't mentally or physically ready for a fight of this magnitude. It stung him to admit it, even to himself, to acknowledge just how completely out-classed he was right now.

From his spot on the floor, Ichigo looked up, torn from his musings, and his eyes widened. Grimmjow stood framed at the outer edge of the jagged opening, black and demonic, silhouetted in the dust against the background light from the street behind him. He had already grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and formed a ridiculously large, blood coloured cero. Even from this distance the teen could feel the heat fanning out as Grimmjow released the energy in one controlled burst. But he hadn't aimed it at Ichigo. He aimed up.

Ichigo let out a heartfelt,_"Shit."_

Above Ichigo's head, the roof exploded. Despite being half blinded by the cero, its large afterimage cutting a wide swath across all but his most peripheral vision, Ichigo was up and moving, ribs and cuts protesting strongly. There was only one way out. He had to make it to one of the windows that would be on the other side of the warehouse. He knew that the roof was coming down on him in large pieces.

Choking dust billowed up as heavy debris smashed into the floor all around him. He pooled his energy and shunpoed towards escape.

But it was dark and he was blind. A large slab plunged earthward, spinning as it fell.

You couldn't dodge what you couldn't see.

* * *

><p>Ichigo reached out awkwardly for support from a wall that was just beyond his grasp. He stumbled forward until he did hit it, the side of his face taking the brunt of the impact, then his arms and shoulders. He scrabbled ineffectively for purchase against the stone, the short edges of his fingernails and fingertips seeking out cracks and indentations in the porous surface and finding none. He cursed, slipping downwards along the rough concrete, further abrading his hands, cheek, and forehead, painting a long red streak of blood on the wall as he fell forward and the cold hard floor rushed up to meet him.<p>

He hadn't made it out of the destroyed building unscathed. The chunk of ceiling had come down against the side his head, but his momentum had carried him through the window and into an alley, where he'd landed hard on the pavement in a shower of broken glass. Barely able to think through the haze of pain, he had forced his muscles to push himself up, and stumbled across the short space between buildings, towards the next warehouse and the illusion of safety.

It was the kind of blow to the head that only someone like Kurosaki Ichigo _could_ have survived, _because_ he was Kurosaki Ichigo, and _because_ he had pulled on that mask at the last possible second, using its power to absorb and deflect the skull crushing force of the solid concrete missile. That terrible and ornate mask, powerful in its design, delicate in its structure, had saved him - and then instantly shattered, spent already, leaving him more vulnerable now than he had been before he'd reached for it.

He dragged up the last of his strength, fighting to get his feet back under him as he groped his way along the dirty concrete floor, scarcely aware of his own name or how he had come to be in this situation. He knew that death was on its way, but he didn't know why. His mind was shutting down and instinct was telling him to be very afraid. The very essence of it was pumping through his veins. It was the most primal type of fear.

He couldn't stay on his feet anymore, couldn't even feel them. Too many things were going critically wrong inside his body. His heart pounded rapidly and white-hot pain seared through his skull. He choked and coughed up a warm wet bubble of something thick and iron-tasting. The liquid spilled over his lips, staining them red and cutting a long crimson trail as it dribbled down the side of his mouth, his chin, his throat.

He stumbled again and landed painfully hard on sore knees and raw hands. It should have been easier for him to stay upright that way, but it made no difference. He was struggling against his limbs, mutinous and shaking, as the crates beside him and the walls around him, with their large gated windows, listed to one side and then the other. Blood flowed into his eye, washing his already dark world with a reddish haze. He scrubbed it away twice in frustration, almost falling on his side for his trouble, but the blood returned each time.

He couldn't fight the steady swell of panic that clawed at his guts as he struggled to drag himself along the floor, covering almost no distance at all for all the effort it took him. All of his senses were screaming at him to keep pushing forward, to go, run, hide, anything - _just fucking move_ - to escape the nameless monster that was coming for him.

He was being hunted. He was going to be slaughtered.

Going to die for nothing.

_Not like this._

His left hand jerked forward against the dirty warehouse floor one final time, and then Kurosaki Ichigo collapsed. He fell with a choked-off swear and lay there sprawled on his side, the world spinning around him violently, the toxic mixture of pain, panic, confusion and nausea making him want to vomit. Then all at once all of the chaos around him, inside of him, faded, until all he could feel through a haze of pain was his heartbeat, and then - even that disappeared.

* * *

><p>You didn't fucking run from Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, not unless you wanted to be chased. It was a powerful instinct that moved him to hunt down any prey of his that tried to scrabble away to safety.<p>

Grimmjow didn't really need the telltale sign of a doorway with no door on its hinges to find the Shinigami dog. The warehouse was almost pitch black in some spots, in tight corners and in rows between tall crates where beams of light from the windows couldn't directly reach. The shadows didn't phase him. He could see quite well in the dark. The Shinigami was in black though, and quite possibly hiding, like a coward. But he was most definitely there.

He moved slowly, eyes darting instinctively from the floor, to the walls, to the ceiling and back. There was no sound or movement to give the Shinigami away. He was close, though. Grimmjow could smell the blood.

Grimmjow rounded the corner of the first stack of crates cautiously, silent and predatory, and then froze, his thoughts cut short by the surreal and equally disgusting little tableau which was laid out before him, like a tragic feast.

He was surprised to hell and back by what he saw. Kurosaki, lying on the ground. He wasn't moving at all. And he was back in his shikai again. What in the fuck was this? Grimmjow had expected him to fight back still, come rushing out at him yelling and swinging his zanpakuto, screaming on about Getsuga Tensho, like he always did.

But he was just lying there, like an idiot.

"Oy. Shinigami," he called. "I'm not done with you yet." His deep voice echoed through the large enclosure. There was no response.

The blue-haired warrior padded evenly across the rough cement floor towards the downed Shinigami. The Sexta looked composed, but it was a false mask he wore, barely succeeding in covering the turmoil that simmered just beneath its surface.

Kurosaki lay crumpled on his left side, lax arms outstretched, black Shinigami uniform flowing smoothly onto the ground, blending with the dark blood that pooled along on the floor against his still body. He had dropped his sword. The Espada cocked his head to the side as he noticed that. Only once had the Shinigami _ever_ dropped his sword.

Grimmjow was sure as shit that he would one day revel in the delirious high of victory against the very bane of his existence, but now he could hardly believe it had happened. Grimmjow had won. He'd really won, no question, hands down won. That fucking Shinigami with his ridiculous hair, his arrogant fucking demeanour, and superior attitude was lying on the ground in front of him, utterly beaten and defenceless. Or so it seemed.

He paused over Ichigo, his muscles still pumped with adrenaline and eager to strike one more time should the Shinigami show even the slightest bit of challenge. Hard blue eyes studied the boy at his feet impatiently, then he nudged him with the side of his foot, but the brown eyes remained still, underneath those the long lashes. The Shinigami's skin was pallid and coated in a sheen of sweat, blood spatter, and dirt. His features were lax, not even a slight frown to show that he was in pain. He was that deeply out.

Something seemed wrong to Grimmjow though. It was the blood. There wasn't enough of it. So why was Kurosaki unconscious when his wounds were so light? Grimmjow thought back to their earlier battles and he knew he'd seen the boy in worse shape, and still on two feet, or at least conscious during those fights.

Genuinely curious, Grimmjow tilted his head as he searched for reason, and raised one foot until it rested on Kurosaki's shoulder, then slowly this time, and not with the ill grace and disregard he'd showed for him in Hueco Mundo after Ulquiorra had first killed the boy, he rolled the younger man from his side onto his back. Ichigo's head lolled from one side to the other, leaving no room for questions about his helpless state. The whole left side of Ichigo's formerly bright orange hair was soaked in crimson.

"_Nanda?_ How the hell did you let that happen?" He shook his head and snorted in disgust. "_Che._ We hadn't even started yet. You fucking pussy. You fucking wasted a good fight."

Grimmjow stood there, the stillness of the place beginning to dawn on him. It was over. All those months of waiting, anticipating, had just come to a head. Kurosaki was at his feet and there was only one thing left to do. It was a simple matter of killing him. And he was going to. It would be easy now to just reach down, wrap his fingers around that slender neck and snap the vertebrae, finishing their feud once and for all. And why shouldn't he? That had been his intention from the start, after all.

So why was he still standing over the Shinigami?

Something deep and unsettling prowled back and forth across the recess of his mind, and it gave Grimmjow pause. And for reasons far beyond those he could recognize and explain in that moment, he found that he wasn't quite ready to end it all just yet. They had been remarkable adversaries, both caught in the same tightly spun web of greed and betrayal, hopelessly entangled and drawn to each other by the promise of violent clashes. They had such a fucking great history together.

And now that the Shinigami had finally fallen, Grimmjow hadn't even been there to see him collapse. It was like Grimmjow had missed witnessing the end of the world.

His distress as he realized how outmatched he was as he succumbed to defeat _must _have been beautiful. Ichigo wasn't a pussy. Grimmjow didn't fight pussies. Almost every single time he'd knocked him down before, the little shit had always rallied, calling up some vast inner strength, as if he'd put it away for safekeeping. The result was that Grimmjow always had time to thoroughly enjoy his fights with the Shinigami, to whip himself up into a frenzy of blood lust, and pour every bit of his hate and Hollow rage into his attacks. Victorious or not, the release of all his pent up aggression on Kurosaki was always immensely satisfying. He'd even admit he'd begun to find it addictive.

He nudged the body with his toe, a little harder this time, but the effect was the same. Ichigo's body rocked back and forth slightly, then stilled. The Espada could still feel the kid's weak reiatsu. It flickered in uneven pulses around him, sending out little ripples of energy that brushed against the Sexta's skin, taunting and teasing him to finish the brat off. Grimmjow was almost obliged by the feeling to bring his foot down and snuff it right the fuck out. But not yet. If this was really the end of their battles, then he wanted to survey his work a little more closely first.

Savour it.

The bluenet remembered their last encounter in the human world, when he'd had Ichigo pinned and beaten. Without a second thought, Grimmjow had been charging a cero with the sole intention of blowing the punk's stupid mask right off his face, while blowing his stupid head off his shoulders along with it. But as fate would have it, that dark-haired Shinigami bitch had completely surprised him, freezing his arm in place before he could unleash his cero in Kurosaki's miserable face. Then she'd had the nerve to freeze him entirely. It hadn't hurt him really, only his pride. It was his own fault and he knew it. She'd gotten a shot off on him because he had underestimated the woman. It had been a bit of a bad habit back then. But he'd grown up a lot since the war, well a little... well, okay... not at all. But Grimmjow was a fast learner and that was one weakness he felt he had overcome; underestimating others, especially those damn Shinigami.

That didn't matter now though. There was no one here to interfere this time.

Placing the razor sharp tip of his sword, Pantera, snug enough against the side of Ichigo's exposed throat to draw a bead of blood, he slowly stepped over the beaten teen's body and looked him over before dropping down onto one knee and straddling him just below the waist, not caring as the blood, still so warm, soaked into his own damaged white hakamas.

He planted his free palm on a dry patch of cement, and leaned forward, bringing his face down low, almost touching Ichigo's stomach. The scent of Kurosaki's blood was arousing, and he inhaled the metallic smell, letting himself travel upwards past Kurosaki's chest until his nose met the crook of his neck. Instinctively, he nipped at the vulnerable flesh with sharp teeth, and his tongue flicked out to taste the blood he'd drawn. The sensation of the Shinigami's fresh, warm blood in his mouth made Grimmjow's own blood jump in his veins in response, lusting to revive the fight. He licked his lips, cleaning away the layer of saliva that had begun to flow like a river. He wanted to dominate him, to rule him. He turned his head so that he was staring with hungry, dilated eyes at the side of Kurosaki's face, listening to the quick shallow breaths passing through Ichigo's slightly parted lips.

He could to anything he wanted now, and there was not one God damned thing Kurosaki could do about it.

Grimmjow withdrew Pantera and placed the sword beside him on the floor. Then he slipped his free hand around Kurosaki's slender throat and squeezed tightly, feeling a cannibalistic little rush of hunger as he felt the thready pulse labour to pass beneath his fingers. There was absolutely no reaction from the Shinigami, except that, Grimmjow noticed, he was beginning to turn blue. He released his grip and drew his hand away as he realized how feral he had just gone. He always went wild in battle, raging and bestial, but this felt different. His mind had slipped away to a darker, more primitive place that even he was used to going. Christ, before now he didn't even know there was one.

He snapped his mouth shut as he suddenly realized that he was panting as his eyes raked over the Shinigami's body. It was maddening how badly he wanted to consume him.

"Shit." Grimmjow sneered and growled, pulling back and showing his fangs in a primal gesture. He was pissed off to hell and beyond, his thirst for battle still raging inside him even in his silence. There was no motherfucking way he was going to let Kurosaki get out of a real honest-to-goodness epic fight to the death just because he went and got his dumb ass knocked out.

And despite his obvious penchant for ceros, deep down Grimmjow really wanted to finish this the old fashioned way. He hungered for it, imagined it, feeling the vibration of his blade as he plunged the razor sharp steel through those hard muscles, sinking Pantera into that soft abdomen and then ripping it back out through those same Shinigami guts, tearing across bone and flesh, and pulling with it Kurosaki's anguished cry of pain.

Yes. Yes! Hell yes! He had a hard-on just thinking about it. Kurosaki wouldn't be allowed to die without looking into Grimmjow's eyes, and knowing that his death was directly by the Sexta's own hands.

Still draped over his prey, Grimmjow put his mouth up to Ichigo's ear and whispered in a rough growl, his lips brushing the lobe as he spoke.

"This isn't good enough, Kurosaki. You and I, we aren't even close to finished yet. You owe me a whole hellofalot more that that." He grabbed him by the chin and then pulled back an eyelid with his thumb.

"You weren't hiding your reiatsu, were you, you stupid shit? How did you get so damned weak? Huh? I didn't come all the way here to fight some fucking weakling." He snarled. "Do you hear me, Kurosaki?" He glowered daggers down at him, but Ichigo's eyes had rolled so far back up into his skull that Grimmjow couldn't even see a trace of brown. He growled in annoyance. Kurosaki was completely unaware of him. It was just like the ass to go sucking all the fun out things for Grimmjow.

"_Che._" He frowned and sat back on his haunches, resting heavily on Ichigo's lap, not in the least bit concerned with their questionable position at the moment, as he considered his options.

He could leave the kid here broken and bleeding to die. He would probably be rescued by his precious Shinigami. They could fix his ass up and Grimmjow could fight him again later, but that couldn't be counted on. And look what had happened without Grimmjow around to keep the kid on his game. Kurosaki had let himself go in the worst way. He'd become a total fucking embarrassment.

The Espada couldn't leave him like this, lying there all pitiful and dying in a morose little puddle of blood. The merciful thing to do would be to just kill him. But Grimmjow was not merciful. There was no place in his life for that. But there was room in his life for Kurosaki, in the short term.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Kurosaki clearly needed Grimmjow. He could easily build the kid back up and restore him to his former level of power. And then Grimmjow would deliver a good death, a spectacular death, one worthy of their particular brand of loathing.

So now he had a problem, one that disgusted him. If he wanted to get another round out of him, he'd have to heal the kid up. He wondered briefly how was he going to do that. All of the Espada had received some medical training from their Shinigami overlords, a necessary tool in their line of work. A few had absorbed the knowledge with ease, like the Eighth of course, while others like that idiot, Yammy, who had neither respect for medicine nor the medics who tended to him, had paid little to no attention. Grimmjow, though uninterested, was intelligent and capable of wrapping wounds and setting bones if he needed to. But what a pain in the ass it would be. And slow. He really didn't want to wait for the Shinigami to heal.

And then he remembered the girl. She could heal injuries like these in minutes.

He needed to locate the reiatsu of the woman called Orihime, the one with those bizzare powers to heal any injury. Her ability had made that idiot Luppi absolutely lose his shit. Grimmjow, though, didn't care at all that they 'infringed on God's territory' as Aizen had put it. He'd just been fucking happy to have his arm back. And he'd had no qualms about using those powers for his benefit.

He reached out with his pesquisa with long practised ease, searching for the small blue flame. There was nothing. She was nowhere near Karakura. Well, that sucked. Maybe she was dead. Oh well.

But what was he gonna do with the kid now? He knew where his body was but he couldn't just shove him back in there and let the human doctors heal him. His injuries were far more than any living body could withstand. That was part of the fun of being an undead spirit type of thing. You could kick the living shit out of one another and mostly walk away in one piece. Just one of the perks of being dead.

He huffed in irritation. So that idea was out. If he shoved him back into his body, it would die, probably within minutes, and the damn substitute Shinigami would just pop right the fuck back out again.

He exhaled a long suffering sigh and toyed with Pantera, using her sharp tip to etch pale lines through the thick blood on the concrete, the marks quickly filling back in each time, leaving him with a fresh palet. Idly, he traced out a dome-shaped image that reminded him of home, before it too disappeared. What the fuck to do?

He blinked. Of course. He'd take him back to the spirit particle rich plane of Hueco Mundo. Kurosaki would naturally absorb the energy he needed there and he'd fix up in no time at all. Question asked. Question answered.

The corners of Grimmjow's mouth twisted upwards to form an unnerving expression of depraved delight. The thought of having the boy all to himself, trapped and alone in Hueco Mundo, prompted an unexpected shift in the Sexta's mood, lightening it from just plain murderous to a haughty feeling of smugness and self satisfaction. He almost felt content, and maybe even a little frisky.

"We're going to do this again, Kurosaki. And we're going to do it right."

Grimmjow stood up, towering over the pale body beneath his legs. Stepping back aside, he sheathed Pantera, sensed her disappointment, ignored it, and bent down, scooping Ichigo up with extraordinary care, for him. He wanted him to live, after all. The Sexta looked down at his prey again, a dead weight hanging limp in his arms like half empty bag of trash, arms out flung, neck extended back, splashes of blood falling from his hair, and mouth agape. Grimmjow could see his tonsils.

A crooked grin stretched across the smooth side of his face at the sight of Kurosaki. What a beautiful fucking mess he was.

Well, healing might take the little prick a bit of time, he mused. And if he had to wait, he had to wait. After this long, what were a few more days to him, really? With a flick of one wrist, a Garganta opened silently in front of them, and with captive in hand the Sexta crossed into the chasm, the emptiness ahead of him inky and black. It closed with no sound.

Moments later, the only sign of the horrors that had happened there, the only thing left of Kurosaki Ichigo, was a blood-stained warehouse floor. And most people in the real world would unknowingly walk over it as a new work day began, ignorant of the fact that one of their protectors had fallen, and unaware of the drama that had taken place the night before.

No. Kurosaki Ichigo never would have guessed how easily one arrancar with a monster grudge could just blow his day all to hell.


	5. Dying by inches

**Chapter Five**

**Dying by inches**

News of a skirmish between the substitute Shinigami and an Arrancar did not reach the ears of the Soul Society's higher ranks as it should have.

The 12th division's captain, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, leaned forward in front of the large screen deep in the confines of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute and made note of the readings. He rested his chin on steepled hands, thin lips pulling back, stretching wide across abnormally large teeth.

It seemed that a powerful arrancar had paid a visit to Karakura and quite possibly destroyed Kurosaki Ichigo. Well, it saved _him_ the trouble. And if the human had been taken, then no one needed to know. Mayuri would have been far more interested in the arrancar anyway, especially if it had been an Espada. But they had all been destroyed. Pity. But he had acquired more than enough samples to sate his perverse interests, the ones he so conveniently justified and camouflaged under the guise of scientific research. And so, he allowed his creepy pale hands to travel lightly over the control panel, nimble and sure, and erased the readings, as a raspy laugh snaked its way up from the depths of his throat and escaped through his teeth in a hiss.

* * *

><p>The minute they touched down in Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow sonidoed back to his quarters and carefully arranged his unconscious captive on his bed.<p>

Time was an issue here. With every moment that passed in the garganta, the Espada had felt life slowly slipping out of the young Shinigami's body.

He sonidoed away, towards the medical supply rooms in what was once Szayel Aporro Granz's lab, and returned in minutes, hands full of bandages, gauze, antiseptics, and whatever other items he thought might prove useful. It didn't take him long to gather the supplies. He knew exactly where everything was. It was the first place he had gone after he'd finally managed to get back onto his feet all those months ago, after Kurosaki and Nnoitra had both...

He snarled and shook his head. He didn't want to think about that.

Nnoitra's parting shot had stung Grimmjow, leaving what was left of his pride as profoundly damaged and torn as his body. _"What the hell Grimmjow? First you let your enemy beat you, then you let him save you?" _Grimmjow had choked as hard on the cutting words as he did on the blood pooling in the back of his throat until his world had finally, almost mercifully, turned black.

He was not going back there. It pissed him off and he had shit to do.

He began unravelling the rolls of bandages and set to work, quickly and efficiently wrapping the Shinigami's wounds, the one on his head taking priority. Grimmjow wrinkled his nose in surprise when he got to the dirty business of inspecting the wound. The skin beneath orange hair had been scraped clean away from bone, and lay stuck down in a rumpled patch. He peeled it back and rinsed away the blood underneath. He could see several fractures in the bone of his skull radiating out from the impact point.

He studied Kurosaki's still face intently for a long moment, the eyes that usually sparked the Sexta's temper, locked away behind closed lids. He supposed he could give the kid a little credit. He probably should be dead.

* * *

><p>Two goddamn days later and the Shinigami hadn't moved once, hadn't even moaned or twitched or nothing.<p>

Grimmjow was climbing the walls.

So far, this was about as much fun as rubbing sand in his eyes. Having Kurosaki here was as good as being alone, only more annoying, because the Espada was stuck here waiting, not knowing if the Shinigami was going to wake up at all. And half afraid that if he did wake up, he would end up like fucking Wonderweiss. It was a real concern. Head injuries were tricky things.

Grimmjow growled and resigned himself once again to waiting, reminding himself that he would soon have the pleasure of taking Kurosaki's life in a fair fight. With nothing else to entertain him, he threw himself down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, and after a few minutes of looking up into the shadows at the monotonous white paint, blue eyes glazed over and his mind began to wander.

...

Grimmjow had never cared for anything besides his own strength. Emotions like caring were of no use to anything in Hueco Mundo, and most definitely not to him. In fact they were a detriment, a hindrance to your survival, to your progression. Grimmjow would have been further ahead in the game if he hadn't had to share his meals with his 'followers' as an adjuchas.

It was a very rare Vasto Lord or Arrancar that showed any true feelings of warmth, rare indeed. The exceptions being Halibel and Nelliel who had developed strong feelings of attachment to their Fraccion, and to some extent the Primera and his youthful other self, but to Grimmjow that seemed a lot more like being in love with yourself than caring for another. And though the Sexta's grasp on the concept of love far exceeded his reach, Grimmjow still just thought their relationship was fucking weird.

Either way, it seemed the higher the level of development, the more ability the arrancar had to feel something akin to friendship and love. And perhaps Grimmjow had formed alliances with a few others, but when they were destroyed he felt only annoyance. He was far more concerned about his own state of affairs regarding his prey, the substitute Shinigami, the one Ulquiorra had failed to kill. Stupid Quatra.

As Grimmjow saw it, the fate of the whole war had been decided the moment the Quatra had made that fatal decision. He wished the pale bastard was still alive so he could kill him, too. And damn Ichigo to fucking hell for taking that right away from him as well.

Aizen pissed on him, Ulquiorra bossed him around, Nnoitra mocked him, and that kid just… just gave him that look! Grimmjow always felt so out of control. They took his pride, they took his prey, they took his meaning away. He was beginning to see red. The beast inside him, the destructive rage that verged on madness, was waking up again and he had to get out of there now. Kurosaki was at risk if he stayed.

He erupted off of the couch, stormed out of the room, and whipped the door shut with a resounding slam. He was halfway down the long corridor when he realized that he didn't even know where he was going, until he looked up. He was headed on a well-worn path straight to the conference hall where that smug bastard had sat on his high and mighty throne and looked down on his army of arrancars. Aizen was long gone but even the ever defiant Grimmjow had become partially conditioned under his rule. And through these long months he had found himself repeating those same steps over and over again.

"_Ring a bell and I'll salivate. Now how do you like that?"_

He drove his fist deep into the wall and screamed in frustration. But the action did little to release his anger, and even less to calm him. He would have given his left nut to blow away some lesser arrancars. That simple pleasure was just another thing that had been taken away.

Grimmjow turned around and stalked down the hallway in a red rage.

* * *

><p>It had been three days since the Espada had procured his piece of Shinigami real estate and Grimmjow was beginning to realize that there was a simple error in his thinking.<p>

He had himself something of a conundrum where Kurosaki was concerned. What he wanted more than anything was to destroy him, over and over and over again, but he couldn't have what he wanted if he destroyed it.

So he was going to have to enjoy every delicious moment of battle and hope that eventually he would get his fill by the time Ichigo reached his full potential and Grimmjow finally ended his miserable life.

He realized that the whole "killing Kurosaki" thing might soon become a moot point anyway. The kid had finally moved, but he wasn't fairing well. One of his wounds had become infected and he burned with fever, his orange hair, soaked with sweat, lying pasted against his forehead.

Grimmjow had raced back to Szayel's labs as soon as Kurosaki's worsened condition had become apparent, and he had practically ransacked the place, looking through vials of healing liquids and grabbing several small towels, and anything else he could possibly use to fight the infection and quell the fever.

That was hours ago. Grimmjow stood over him now, listening to him breath. Kurosaki was dying by inches, but struggling so hard to live, to keep existing. Grimmjow felt that too. Everything in Hueco Mundo was a struggle.

In this brief moment of inner calm, Grimmjow could understand and even respect the strength the Shinigami possessed, and his unbreakable will to survive. Very well, then. As long as Kurosaki continued to fight, Grimmjow would continue to look after him. He wasn't dead yet.

...

Ichigo was shivering violently, his breaths coming in short pained gasps. He was so cold it hurt. His eyes were squeezed tightly together. He had cracked them open once, just for a second, and had no plans at all to do it again. If he did, he knew the world would start to sway and spin, bringing a sickening nausea along with it.

For the one brief moment when he had half remembered who he was, and realized where he was and just who the hell he was with, he'd had to fight extra hard against vomit inducing fear. And it was a sure bet that puking all over the place would be frowned upon. His fevered mind was a miasma of disjointed images, and it was with a sense of relief that he felt himself slipping back down into nothingness. It was his only way to escape Grimmjow. He welcomed it.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow watched his bedridden charge - the unconscious addition to <em>his<em> Las Noches - his brows furrowed in a moment of deep contemplation.

The Sexta regarded himself as a man of action, and his main concern now was in keeping the severely wounded Shinigami alive. He vaguely noted that he wasn't initially as annoyed as he thought he'd be. Taking care of this half-dead creature gave him something to do, something new to focus on. He shouldn't be bothered with it, but it was a change from his routine of training alone, a substandard method when you didn't even have a worthy sparring partner to engage, or in his case, any sparing partner.

The kid didn't look so good. He was pale, feverish. Sweat had broken out in fine shimmering beads on his forehead, and slicked his body. And he shivered constantly, sometimes almost jerking convulsively. His breathing was ragged, a huffing sound. His body was working to take deep breaths, then exhaling hard, as if trying to vent the heat trapped inside. He was really struggling. It was dawning on Grimmjow that he really might not make it now, and there would be no epic fight, no epic defeat. And that thought truly irritated him.

The blankets weren't helping. And he was getting sick of the goddamn pathetic sounds of the wretched thing in his bed. For a long moment, Grimmjow just stared at Ichigo, thinking. He finally released a long tired sigh as he came to an awkward and unsatisfying decision. _Fuck._

It was a good goddamn thing that there weren't any other arrancars left to see this.

Grimmjow lifted the corner of the blankets back from the shivering form just long enough to slip into the bed himself. The short shock of cold air elicited a gasp and a pathetic whimper of complaint from the Shinigami.

"_Che,_ shut it, Kurosaki. Quit your whining. I've got better fucking things to do than this, you know."

He was sure the Shinigami didn't really hear him, but as soon as he aligned himself and pressed his bare chest against Ichigo's back, he knew that he was at least semi-aware, because the kid responded by pressing hard against him, apparently reveling in the warmth from the Sexta's body.

"Heh."

He found the irony highly amusing; Ichigo was so desperate to escape the torment of the fever, that he didn't seem to care, or rather, he likely didn't even know, that he was trying to push himself harder into the chest of a half-naked male, and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, his sworn enemy, to boot. He laughed again at the thought. Which part of that revelation would the kid find more humiliating? The Sexta knew that Kurosaki would freak out if his fever broke and Grimmjow was still there.

Well then. This was a giant no-brainer.

He pulled the blankets up over both of their shoulders and reached one heavily muscled arm around Kurosaki's side, cautious of the weight of it against his broken ribs. The difference in their height resulted in his hand coming to rest low on Ichigo's well-toned stomach, settling on the soft space beneath his belly button. The Sexta noticed the way their bodies moulded comfortably together. He noticed, and then just as quickly let the thought flit away, inconsequential.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and scrunched his nose up as Ichigo twitched and his wild orange hair tickled his face. The close contact filled him with Ichigo's scent, and an odd mix of blood, feverish sweat, and the faint residual smell of recently washed hair that he hadn't noticed before. What was that strange sweet scent anyway? It was foreign but not unpleasant. Ichigo shifted against him again, the sensation suddenly and unexpectedly travelling down Grimmjow's body, electric heat cresting and pooling in his groin.

"_Sh-shit._ Quite moving around, Shinigami. Unless you want my dick jammed in your back all night. _Che_." Grimmjow didn't realize that he was blushing several shades of red as he reprimanded Ichigo.

This feeling of physical closeness without pain was new to Grimmjow. If it wasn't a fist in his jaw, a blade in his back, or a hand wrapped around his throat, he hadn't experienced it. The gentle touch of another body, so intimate, still, and warm against his own, was aliento him. He knew of it, these touches, but he had lusted only for battle and strength in his short time as an arrancar, finding neither the time nor interest for the inferior whores of Hueco Mundo. He wouldn't sully his hands or his dick in some futile quest for carnal pleasure with those weak and distasteful wenches. That was more Nnoitra's thing.

But here in this bed, while his mind all but refused to acknowledge the pleasure of the sensation, the semi he was sporting told the truth, that his body was, at the very least, enjoying the contact. Ichigo groaned again, and without even realizing it, Grimmjow instinctively tightened his arm, pulling him closer until Ichigo finally sighed and stilled.

Whether it was from the need to preserve the image he had of himself or not, Grimmjow quickly shoved aside bothersome thoughts of gentleness and erections and stamped them out, preferring to slide into more comfortable behavioural patterns; like finding ways to fuck with his prey.

Oh yes. This was way too good to pass up. What an excellent way to taunt the boy to make him fight seriously the next time they clashed. Grimmjow had a flare for pushing buttons. He smiled broadly at the thought, and let his head sink into the pillow, staring at the soft, fine, strawberry hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck, fighting the sudden urge to bite into it possessively. It was raw instinct. This kid, this Kurosaki, was on his turf, on his terms, in his care, and in his bed.

At least for now, for all intents and purposes, he owned Kurosaki Ichigo. The smile stretched impossibly wider. His prey was here and under his control. There was only one world he could think of that could describe the deep, pleasurable feeling that settled throughout his body. Satisfied.

He let his eyes slide closed and growled quietly in contentment, looking every bit the cat curled up in a morbid fit of ecstasy around the lifeless and eviscerated body of a bird.


	6. You're in my house now

Thank you for your reviews so far! This is my first time really writing since waaay back in high school. So they mean a great deal to me!

For those who are waiting. Great news! This story is already finished. I was just waiting for the rest to be Beta read. Alas, my beta has been squashed by an avalanche of school work and enticed by the prospect of exciting worldly adventures. I asked her if she could do a 'light' beta read for me and she did a great job. So, I must thank her for her work on the first five chapters. So, Black., I thank you!

And now, I will do the best I can and post each chapter once I've given it a final read through. There will be punctuation errors, but hopefully nothing so drastic as to disrupt your attention from the story.

If you like my version of Grimmjow, thank the writers that I've scoured the net for, the one's who, when they couldn't find a story they liked, were brave enough to write the gritty, primal, animal-like version of Grimmjow that 'they' wanted to read. So I read and I read and I tried my best to do the same. It's still not quite what I was going for, but I may keep writing to see if I can 'get it right'. Ciao! And enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: You're in my house now<strong>

Grimmjow woke up many hours later to the unusual feel of warm, moist air on his face. He cracked open an annoyed eyelid, the one that wasn't pressed into the surface of the pillow, and had to fight to focus on the blur in front of him. Why was that? He blinked as the full picture came into view. If he'd had a human heart, it would have stopped beating. Not an inch from the tip of his nose, was Ichigo's.

The kid must have turned himself over at some point. What was this shit? Grimmjow berated himself. How in the hell had he become so soft that the Shinigami could manage to flip himself over without even waking him? Even though Kurosaki was seriously injured and no real threat, was Grimmjow really that comfortable with the kid? Had he learned nothing about underestimating his enemies? Or had he just been here alone for so long, save for weak Hollows, that his survival instincts had completely dulled? Both scenarios irritated him, even more so given his natural post-nap ill humour.

His thoughts abruptly snapped back to his current situation. The boy had his arms tucked upwards against his own chest, hands curled up just under his chin. Grimmjow glanced down without moving his head. From the shape of the covers, Kurosaki seemed to be mostly in the fetal position.

He brought his eyes back up to the face, so quiet in repose, in front of him. He had never really seen Kurosaki this close up for very long. They were always moving too swiftly in battle, faces contorted in anger, covered in blood, shunpoing and sonidoing, twisting and blocking, clashing for brief moments before distancing themselves and then clashing again. The only time he'd gotten a real good look at the kid's face for any length of time, it had been bathed in a glow of red from the cero forming in Grimmjow's palm. And he'd still only really noticed those damn eyes and the satisfying fear in them.

But now, Kurosaki looked peaceful and relaxed, but for the slight ever-present scowl that seemed to be stitched into his brow, the only thing telling of the pain that nagged at him even in unconsciousness. He was young, a teenager, still boyish with smooth features, what human girls would probably consider handsome.

Feeling oddly playful, Grimmjow cautiously brought his face forward, closing the small space until the tip of their noses touched, then he wriggled it just to see what, if any, reaction he could get. Ichigo didn't disappoint. The ticklish sensation made him wrinkle his nose and sniff. Even this small sign of irritation was enough to please the Sexta to no end, and he grinned fully, teeth and all, his own scowl lines momentarily disappearing as if fleeing from this foreign expression. A smile with no malice in it. Just a boyish jubilance at finding something innocently amusing.

Without warning, Ichigo's hand shot up, smacking Grimmjow hard enough in the mouth in the process to cause him to sink a sharp fang into his lip. He muffled a cry with his free hand, and for an endless moment, forcibly squashed the anger that stirred inside him, and the instinctive urge to smack the kid back twice as hard. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for Ichigo to wake up. He supposed he kind of deserved that anyway for being such a prick. Hell, that was the best shot the kid had gotten in so far. Heh.

No matter. He would just add it to Kurosaki's tab. And when the time came, oh, he would make him pay.

* * *

><p>Ichigo was bathed in pain. But the explosion in his head seemed to be settling slowly into a mere vicious pounding, a far cry from the intolerable screaming and tearing agony that it had been before. Whenever that was. His concept of time seemed to have flown out the window at some point, and his location was a complete mystery as well. Who cared? Where he was and how he'd gotten here was less important than how much pain he was in. Pulsing shock waves beat relentlessly against the insides of his skull, keeping a sadistic rhythm with his heart. It was far too hard to think.<p>

True consciousness returned slowly, ebbing in and out like gentle ocean waves, pulling him unwillingly, painfully closer to the outside world. Long hours passed and he was becoming more aware piece by piece, able to focus for brief moments on the things around him and not just the throbbing in his head. He was lying on his right side, the ground was soft, and he was warm. Warm. He had been so cold before. He was covered by something... blankets. This was a bed maybe? Yes. Good. He was cooking with gas now.

With monumental effort, he pried open one recalcitrant eyelid just enough to let some light filter through his lashes and reach overly sensitive eyes. He winced even in the low silvery light of the room. That was as good as things were going to get for now.

It took a long time before his half lidded eye would cooperate and focus on anything at all, and he struggled to bring into focus a world that was just a blur of wet eyelashes and a wash of dull colours cast in shadows. Ichigo wanted to know where he was, but he couldn't really see much of his surroundings because something bulky seemed to be in the way. He blinked away the moisture from glazed eyes and found that he could finally make out most of the bleary shape in front of his face. It was a person.

"Morning, honey."

Now Ichigo _did_ have a human heart, and he was pretty sure it _did_ stop beating.

His reasoning skills were slow and dulled but this, this low voice, silky yet grating, this face in front of his... he knew. And he feared.

The Sexta waited to let the situation sink in (the Shinigami was known for being a bit dull at times) before he punctuated the greeting with a slight upward tilt of his head and quick forward motion, and planted a moist kiss firmly on Ichigo's lips. He pulled back to observe the results of his actions, with a wide toothy grin, one that was both happy and vicious.

The young Shinigami's mouth opened and he gaped. His brain was in total gridlock. He didn't even have the sense to wipe the Sexta's glistening saliva from his lips. The utterly surreal and entirely unwholesome situation was just too much for the already over taxed body and mind of Kurosaki Ichigo and he did what any young, hot-blooded male warrior would do in his place.

He passed out.

Grimmjow let his head fall back as far as it would go and laughed out loud, a manic sound, frighteningly similar to the way it had been when he'd killed that freak Luppi and taken back his rightful place as the Sexta Espada. It took him several minutes to contain his mirth. He hadn't planned that out at all. It had just seemed the most natural thing to do at that moment. And the kid's reaction had been... outstanding.

"_Tch._ You're too much, Kurosaki." The Sexta grinned to himself, and reaching up, tousled Ichigo's already disheveled hair in what looked like an affectionate manner, mindful of the injury, before wiping away a stray tear of amusement, that had traced a path down his own cheek. He closed his eyes and purred internally. Now _that_ had been entertaining.

It looked like this was going to be fun. Seemed he had made the right call after all.

* * *

><p>It was only an hour later when Grimmjow awoke again. Testing Kurosaki's forehead with his palm, he found that the Shinigami's temperature felt closer to whatever was normal for a Shinigami. Kurosaki didn't stir at the touch, but his face seemed to speak of sleep now more than it did unconsciousness. Satisfied with the kid's condition, and confident that he wasn't going anywhere, Grimmjow quietly worked his way out from under the sheets and stood, stretching himself fully, arms extended upwards, joints popping under the pressure of taut muscles. He released a bone-cracking yawn, trying not to be too loud about it, but it still approached the likeness of a muffled lion's roar.<p>

God, he was stiff. He needed to get out and burn off some restless energy. The kid was doing better now, and his color was starting to come back. But he'd probably sleep for several more hours at least. Plenty of time for Grimmjow to make a meal of a few Hollows, train for a bit, and, oh, the Shinigami would need to eat, so he'd have to go scrounge up some food and drink. Luckily Aizen had left behind a fully stocked _kido_ preserved food supply. So the food would technically last forever, or at least as long as the _kido_ held up. But Grimmjow would be damned if he knew how to prepare any of it.

* * *

><p>He had to call up all his strength just to sit up, but finally managed the monumental task and levered himself upright, arms braced behind him. He cringed as his head and ribs warned him in unison that he shouldn't be moving this way, and he let himself carefully slide back down, then rolled onto his side, the one with the least number of injured ribs.<p>

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Shinigami. 'Bout fucking time, too," a voice said with no small amount of malice.

Ichigo opened his eyes and raised his head at the sound of the smooth tenor that had a taunting and cheerful quality to it, and shot the speaker a look of disbelief and annoyance. _Land of the living?_ He mumbled his heated response mostly into his pillow.

"...fucking Hueco Mundo." _Asshole._

"_Tch._ Just a joke, Shinigami. Lighten up." His mouth held a slight smile, but his cerulean eyes glinted warningly.

_You're in my house now, Shinigami._

Grimmjow may have been gentle when playing nurse-maid, but now that the Shinigami was awake and soon to be mobile again, he wasn't having any of it. He wouldn't give Kurosaki an inch if he could help it. One inch was all this brat needed to start running off at the mouth. No. Grimmjow would make it very clear who was in charge in his domain. It was time Kurosaki learned a little about respect. The question was, how hard was he going to make it on himself? The Sexta chuckled to himself. If he knew Kurosaki, and he thought he did, the kid would make it very, very hard.

Good stuff.

* * *

><p>Well, that was a perfectly stupid idea.<p>

Ichigo was sitting up unsteadily, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. Grimmjow stood in front of him with a plate in his hand. Ichigo had taken the proffered food, a simple piece of bread and some water, and had managed to swallow a small bit of each. Grimmjow grunted at him, and Ichigo shook his head. He didn't want any more.

Being upright and eating whilst suffering from a combined skull fracture and severe concussion could never be a good combination in anyone's book, and Ichigo had to brace himself as a wave of dizziness suddenly washed through him, bringing with it the unnerving feeling of something being inherently wrong, something bad stirring insidiously inside him.

The vague feeling quickly focused itself and Ichigo promptly, and without any sort of polite warning, lurched forward and threw up all over Grimmjow's feet.

The Espada's expression was frozen into a myriad of disbelief, shock, and disgust, his teeth exposed in outrage. In a flash he ripped Pantera from its sheath and in one swift movement it was pressed flat against Kurosaki's cheek, the tip of it resting against his ear.

Ichigo didn't have the internal resources to even notice the blade as he panted from the exertion and then coughed harshly as the foul tasting bile burned his throat and mouth. When the teen managed to raise his head just enough that he could see Grimmjow's face when he glanced up, a thousand words couldn't describe fully the expression that he saw there, and the blur of emotions that passed over it. A few could cover the basics though. Completely shocked. And murderous.

Ichigo couldn't care less at the moment about the arrancar's emotional state of mind, distressed as it was. He was wholly preoccupied with not going through a repeat performance as the taste and texture worked its way around his mouth. The exquisite burning sensation scalded his throat and, oh God, it had gotten up his nose too. He could smell and taste it in his nose. His eyes watered and his stomach roiled again. He sucked up several deep breaths as he hunched in front of his captor.

Grimmjow's eyes were wild and he was vibrating with the effort not to behead Kurosaki then and there and just be done with the whole fucking nuisance.

Both men were panting, one struggling for control, and the other struggling to keep his stomach from turning inside out.

"You fucking asshole!"

"M'sorry 'bout that," he mumbled halfheartedly.

"You... you fucking puked... you... FUUUCK!" Grimmjow focused his psychotic glare on Ichigo, only to find himself staring ineffectively at the back of Kurosaki's head, watching him take in heaving breaths as the Shinigami fought to keep from repeating his faux pas.

Ichigo cringed further as the crude narrative increased in decibels somewhere just above him, and closed his eyes against the caterwauling noise. Then there was another noise, strangled and guttural, and a swishing sound as the side of the blade disappeared from his neck, and instead slashed murderously through empty air until it collided with the solid rock wall, grating and sparking, and showering the room and Ichigo in bits of rock and dust. A final disgusted snarl, and the Sexta turned abruptly and abandoned the room as if it were on fire, not even bothering to slam the door behind him, much to Ichigo's relief. One more loud noise and his skull would surely rend itself into pieces.

Exhausted, head throbbing painfully, he carefully eased himself back down onto the bed, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of bits of grit against his bare side. He pulled the covers over his head, trying to drown out light and noise, though there was little of either in this place. It was a pointless task. The racquet in his head was more than enough to keep him awake.

A few moments later he became uncomfortably aware of the sound of rumbling somewhere close by, the whine of cero after cero being released inside the walls of Las Noches, followed by thundering echoes of heavy concrete exploding and falling as Grimmjow systematically destroyed what was left of several of the towers inside the grounds. All that anger was because of Ichigo. It made him shudder and be reluctantly thankful for Grimmjow's incredible, yet inexplicable efforts to redirect his rage and aggression. Being fried into a Shinigami-shaped piece of charcoal was not something Ichigo wanted to experience, ever.

He took solace in one fact as he slipped into an uncomfortable sleep. There wasn't much puke on the floor to clean up.

Most of it had landed on Grimmjow's feet.

* * *

><p>Under the blue sky, Grimmjow growled in disgust and used another handful of the harsh dessert sands to violently scrub away the last remnants of vomit from his black boots, retching uncontrollably as he did so at the sour smell of bile.<p>

Disgusting vile stuff. He needed something to erase the memory of it from his senses. What could he do? He didn't particularly feel the urge to feed, and destroying things wasn't working in the slightest to ease his fury. He sure as hell wasn't going back in that room any time soon. He couldn't handle seeing the vomit on the floor. And on that note, Kurosaki could fucking well clean up his own mess.

Then he remembered the drinks. Aizen didn't drink, fucking teetotaller... but Gin did.

The silver haired renegade Shinigami, with his creepy smile, had actually sat with some of Espada once and had them indulge in some of his special drink. Grimmjow had found it remarkably calming. It had taken the fight right out of him. He absolutely goddamned hated the stuff.

There was a large stash of sake preserved in storage, along with the rest of the food. One bottle would surely do. And when he was done with the bottle, he would break it over that orange head.

Grimmjow bared his teeth at nothing and grinned at the idea. It quickly turned to snarl and a dark frown as another whiff of the sickly scent caught in his sensitive nose. He shook his head and snorted ineffectually in an attempt to expel the pungent scent, then he stomped off with purpose across the sand to get himself thoroughly plastered.

* * *

><p>The next time the Shinigami awoke, a tray of food sat beside the bed, Grimmjow conspicuously absent. Ichigo sat up slowly. Reishi was nice and all but he still needed to eat. He was shaky and painfully weak. He looked at the tray. More bread and water. Delightful. When it came to his culinary skills, the Espada certainly had a flair for boring. Ichigo was going to starve to death in this wasted place if he didn't get some real food soon.<p>

He reached for a piece of bread, and something on the floor caught his attention. A white towel lay strewed across the spot where he'd lost his guts earlier, as if it had been tossed there haphazardly, from a distance. Ichigo raised one long, apricot brow, then snorted. It seemed rather ironic, and Ichigo couldn't help but laugh at the notion that when he'd finally found Grimmjow's Achilles heel, it was not something he could ever produce on a whim, or would ever want to.


	7. Drinking and Bathing and Skin

Chapter Seven: Drinking and Bathing and Skin

After spending a few days trapped in bed, with the Sexta hounding him, Ichigo was convinced of one thing...

...that Grimmjow could start a fight in an empty house.

Ichigo sat up in his bed, less dizzy than before, and regarded the Espada he'd come to know all too well. The Sexta lounged across the room, well muscled limbs stretched out comfortably along the entire length of the couch, freshly opened bottle of sake resting upright on his bare chest, reinforced by the tips of strong fingers. He lay like that, comfortable, careless, blue hair tousled perfectly, looking for all the world like a debauched rock star.

To watch him as he was now, Ichigo thought, and not know him, one might think he looked like a little kid, full of mischief, youthful laziness, and cockiness, all wrapped up into an undeniably boyishly handsome package. On the one hand, yes, he did possess those traits. On the other hand, when he angered, he worked himself into a frenzy, becoming a sadistic, brutal, lethal, cold, calculating, taunting, menacing, homicidal arrancar sonofabitch.

_That_ was Espada Ichigo had come to know, and being unarmed in his presence was unacceptable.

"Where's Zangetsu?"

"I took it. Why?" Grimmjow didn't even deign to open his eyes.

"Uhh… it would be nice to be able to defend myself."

"You got nothing to worry about Shinigami. Hollows don't come around here." Blues eyes opened and slid sideways, sly and mocking.

"I meant from you," he snapped, and if Grimmjow heard him mumble 'asshole', he didn't acknowledge it.

"Che. You aren't worth killing as you are now. I ain't interested in the weak." He turned his gaze away and took a long, lazy pullfrom his bottle to emphasize his disinterest and display his contempt.

Ichigo felt the heat in his face as he flushed, his temper beginning to rise. He knew what the arrancar meant. As much as he loathed the feeling, he was an invalid right now. But still. What a dick.

Grimmjow reached back and stretched languidly before raising his knees and feet up then bringing them down, rocking himself forward in a fluid motion into a sitting position, twisting as he did, so that he faced forward on the couch.

"You don't seem to realize the position you're in, Shinigami. Just because I'm letting you heal, don't go thinking that means I've forgiven you."

"What?"

"I came back for a good fight, and you didn't keep up your end of the bargain."

"Screw you."

"You ruined my fight."

"_You_ ruined my weekend."

Even the air in the room seemed to still in wary anticipation of what was surely to come, as the two warriors glared icily at one another. Ichigo knew he shouldn't be so quick to talk back. He was already in deep enough shit. He felt the Sexta's reiatsu rise in warning, clashing against his own, the friction between them becoming more intense, until Ichigo winced and shifted uncomfortably, his very movement conceding defeat. Grimmjow flashed a quick grin.

"Heh. Your weekend should be the least of your concerns. Or haven't you figured it out yet, Shinigami?"

He took another quick sip of sake and stood up, placing the half downed bottle on the small table. Ichigo watched him from his bed with a unimpressed scowl, nervousness building quietly on the inside, as the arrancar rose and sauntered in a casual fashion towards him, flaunting himself, confident, bold, hands in his pockets as he stopped at the very edge the bed, looming over the prone Ichigo.

"Rest assured Shinigami, I _am_ going to kill you. And when I do, you will be at full power, and the sound of _my_ sword running through _your_ heart will be the last thing you hear." He grinned, revealing his oversized canines.

Ichigo's expression faltered at the very real nature of the threat, and his composure crumbled easily in his unhealthy state.

"Stay away from me you psycho fucking demon!", he spat, fear and disgust hopelessly intermingled.

The feral grin fell away in an instant. "Demon?", he said tightly. A muscle at the corner of the Espada's eye twitched and it took Ichigo only a fraction of a second to realize that he had said entirely the wrong thing.

"Y-you assholes tore up my town, tried to murder my friends, tried to take over the world, you..." He was stuttering, tripping over his tongue in his haste to explain himself, excuse his poor choice of words. Why though? Ichigo had no reason to apologize to his enemies, least of all Grimmjow. It was the lightheaded feeling that was creeping in around him that was the cause. It made him weak in mind as well as body. He fucking hated feeling like this, especially in front of this arrogant fuck.

What he wouldn't give to be healthy again and have his full powers back. He had a mountain of stuff he wanted to return to Grimmjow, with interest.

Grimmjow cut him off sharply, voice rising in pitch and intensity, mirroring his emotions, and he bolted forward. He stopped just short of throwing himself onto the bed, and leaned towards Ichigo, his arms braced against the mattress.

"Wrong, you stupid fucker!"

Ichigo recoiled, pushing himself away as quickly as his sore and torn muscles would allow, shuffling across the bed, until his back met the solid wall, causing pain to flair out through his ribs. Even then he pushed.

"_Aizen_ tried to take over the world. Not us! We were just hired help. And we didn't have much of a fucking choice!" His eyes opened white and wide in his head, suddenly distant as if he were reliving an old nightmare. "You helped Aizen or he'd make sure you regressed back into a fucking Menos. And there's no coming back from that, ever! It would be worse than death! It would be fucking hell!"

He was yelling now, searing blue eyes returning to Ichigo's with ferocious intensity, and each thought punctuated by the sound of fabric tearing as his hands clenched spasmodically and his sharp nails clawed at the bed, gouging it until its edge lay in shredded ruins.

Ichigo had nothing at all to say to Grimmjow's outburst. He didn't particularly want to acknowledge what he'd just heard, as if it might incline him to feel something less than bitter hatred towards the bastardized Hollow in front of him. He couldn't meet those pissed off blue eyes, or stand to see the suddenly victimized and abused expression of a veteran of war. It didn't fit there. And the arrancar didn't deserve to wear it.

Ichigo dropped his gaze, until it fixed somewhere just passed Grimmjow's sword, and scowled impartially. A stone-faced kid who'd just been scolded.

Grimmjow huffed and tried to reign in his anger before he ceroed the kid through the very wall that he now huddled against for protection. Grimmjow took a slow steadying breath to calm himself.

"Demons, Kurosaki, exist in Hell. Much as you might think so, this ain't hell. Hueco Mundo, is where the lost souls go, souls without hearts."

Ichigo blinked. This was some kind of fucking moment for Grimmjow to be sure. Was he... was he actually he lecturing Ichigo about Hueco Mundo and Hollows, as if he didn't already have a clue about all of that shit? Ichigo swallowed down a wandering ribbon of bile that was snaking its way up his throat, a product of the situation, his fear, his dizziness, and his proximity to his captor.

He'd been stabbed many times before. It had always been... uncomfortable. _This_ was far worse.

Grimmjow tapped the centre of his own exposed chest. Apparently he wasn't finished by a long shot.

"And all we do here, all we've ever done, is mindlessly kill and feed and survive, with no purpose, and no hope. Only if you're _lucky _(there was something bitter and sarcastic in his tone at the use of the word) do you get to _wake up_ as a menos, and then you feed and feed and try to get strong enough so that maybe you don't have to exist in fear of becoming another Hollow's snack. Don't you get it Kurosaki? This isn't hell. This is just fucking purgatory."

The scowl had reluctantly fallen away from Ichigo's face, replaced with the beginnings of enlightenment, and a sense guilt and shame that he swore he had no cause to feel. He still refused to look at him though.

"Welcome to the _real_ Hueco Mundo, Kurosaki. Don't worry. You won't be staying long."

* * *

><p>"Grimmjow?" Ichigo didn't want to talk to the Espada, and it showed is his voice when the Sexta's name came out sounding all too petulant and pouty.<p>

"What?" The sharp snap of a question was loud in his ear.

"When did you start drinking?" Ichigo didn't want to talk to the Espada, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

Grimmjow blinked at the strange question, sparing Ichigo a sideways glance, as they moved slowly towards the bathroom.

"You don't seem like the... _ughnn_... type." Ichigo winced against the stiffness of his maltreated body and underused muscles.

"When _you_ got here." That had been close to a week ago. Grimmjow didn't say when he'd _actually_ started drinking - didn't want to bring up that wretched moment ever again.

Ichigo looked away and snorted at the implied insult, surprised and genuinely offended.

"Shit mellows me out. Keeps me from killing you," the Espada added bluntly.

Ichigo's blood ran just a shade cooler as those particular words came out of the creature who currently had a powerful arm wrapped around his body. It hadn't escaped his notice, though, just how gently Grimmjow was holding him, avoiding his most painful wounds, offering just the right amount of support to allow Ichigo to do some of the work himself. He supposed that the sake was working.

It was laughable really. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was getting shit-faced just for him. Not that he would thank him for it. Not ever.

Ichigo was relieved when they finally stepped across the threshold of the bathroom, the fatigue he felt, all out of proportion to the short walk. The bathroom was spacious enough, the large tub already filled with hot water, covered in a thin froth of soapy bubbles.

Grimmjow let him go, and Ichigo just stood there looking pale from the exertion and beginning to sway. Grimmjow reflexively grabbed his arm, steadying him before he could fall.

"Well get in then before you fall down. Idiot."

Ichigo felt warmth seeping into his face and he looked away. As IF he was going to undress in front of the Espada. No way. That disturbing idea ranked amongst the top ten things Kurosaki Ichigo would never do in this lifetime.

"I am _not_ undressing in front of you, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow's mouth fell open. It hadn't even occurred to him that this would be an issue. The Sexta sure didn't care about things as petty as being naked, and being stared at or gawked at. Not at all. He had bigger things to be petty about.

"You fucking humans are retarded. Get over it."

"Look, I can do it myself. I don't need..."

"Suit yourself then." Grimmjow let go suddenly and Ichigo, unprepared, promptly stumbled backwards and landed awkwardly in a heap on the hard floor with a thump, jarring his ribs and unhealed wounds as he did. He writhed in pain and cursed through gritted teeth.

"Fuck!"

Grimmjow displayed a mouth full of teeth in triumph. Kurosaki rarely said anything worse than 'shit' or 'bastard'. That must have hurt.

Grimmjow squatted beside Ichigo, who was breathing hard, but who now lay relatively still, his head and bare chest resting on the cool tiled floor, face full of glowers turned towards Grimmjow.

"You're making this awfully fun for me, Shinigami." He was still grinning. This sake was a wonderful invention and one of his better ideas. The kid was testing his phenomenally short patience, again, and Grimmjow hadn't actually hurt him yet. Kurosaki had done it to himself.

"Fuck off, Grimmjow. You're an asshole." He didn't bother to mumble the sentiment this time. At the moment, he was far more pissed off at Grimmjow than he was afraid of him. If he'd had his strength back right now, he'd gut him where he stood.

Grimmjow tilted his head, a thoughtful smile reaching his azure eyes.

"Yeah. I am aren't I."

* * *

><p>Tense negotiations ensued.<p>

After making several halfhearted promises to keep his head turned until Ichigo's lower body was safely hidden beneath the confines of the water, Grimmjow finally manage to coax Ichigo out of his hakamas. In the end it was a simple matter of Grimmjow offering his arm for support and Ichigo reluctantly pulling on the bow of his white sash, and that was that. The pants were off.

And when he did turn his head, Ichigo didn't notice, and Grimmjow didn't comment. If he had, the little bitch probably would have gone into hysterics.

* * *

><p>That fucking asshole had <em>looked<em>.

Ichigo was mortified and completely incensed, wanting to tear into the perverted bastard, but he was much too tired to voice any more complaints. And he was already dreading the return trip. The walk had been physically draining and..._ oh shit._ They were going to have to go through all of this again when he was finished in the bath. And this time he was going to be naked _and _wet. Maybe this was how Grimmjow, with all his big threats, was actually going to kill him, through sheer humiliation.

Before Ichigo could actually die, Grimmjow had left the bathroom, and after a minute or two of listening to the peaceful sounds of water lapping against the porcelain tub, Ichigo had finally begun to relax. He let the hot water soak into his aching body, ignoring the pain it caused his deeper wounds, the ones that were still on the raw side. All in all though, he had to admit, he was healing quite well on his own here, having received only the most basic of medical attention.

He closed his eyes and let his thoughts slide towards home and dwell on the prospect of getting there. He decided that he could use this time to relax and think, but as Ichigo was beginning to learn was the norm, the quiet respite was short lived.

Applying the theory of '_if one is good, then two is better_', Grimmjow had returned within minutes to the bathroom with a second bottle of sake, and had sat perched on the edge of a small stool, to make sure his idiot prey didn't drown himself. Oddly, the alcohol didn't seem to Ichigo to be having any noticeable effect on his coordination, just his temperament. It wasn't long before the arrancar had started complaining about shit Ichigo didn't care about.

"That asshole gave me a 'gift'. He made me stronger than holy hell, and then he left me with nothing to rule. You said so yourself, 'what's the point in being strong and ruling if you don't have anyone left to rule?' Well Kurosaki, do ya see anyone else round here? Do ya?"

Ichigo automatically looked up despite himself at the question. Grimmjow's arms were up in the air as he gestured at the infinite space outside of the four walls around them, the bottom of his short jacket rising above his muscular chest as he did. Ichigo dropped his eyes and stared curiously at the bland wall through the large Hollow hole in the Espada's abdomen. Grimmjow was too involved to notice.

As far as Grimmjow's sake consumption was concerned, Ichigo noted, it appeared there was indeed a definite line between him "mellowing out" and "becoming a head case". Grimmjow was up and pacing now, agitated beyond consolation, sword swishing back and forth in its sheath as he turned at the end of each run, a restless caged cat.

"What in the _fff-FUCK_...", he spat the word out, "am i supposed to do now? HUH? Sit here and go catatonic?"

Ichigo blinked at the question. _Hmph. Cat-atonic. That was funny. Well. What was an arrancar supposed to do? Well. Who cared?_

The Espada stopped suddenly, running long fingers through teal coloured hair, then whirling around to face Ichigo again. His voice, for a moment, seemed drained of energy, but began to rise again as he spoke.

"I have nothing Kurosaki. The only thing that kept me going was you. You said you'd fight me… whenever I want. That's _what_ you said...!" He snarled, sharp fanged teeth flashing.

Ichigo was speechless. A hundred thoughts spiralled through his mind... _"only thing that kept me going…"_, all vying at once for his attention and only one of them really succeeding, _"…was you"_.

Him?

Bullshit.

He didn't want to be the Espada's _raison d'etre_.

He didn't want to give him hope.

He didn't really want him to die, not once you dug underneath all the scabby layers of hate and bitterness, but he _would_ prefer it if he just disappeared, stayed the hell away from him, his world, and all the things in it that were irreplaceable and precious to him. He'd never given any thought to how any Espada left alive would want to spend its days after the war, and he didn't care. But here one was, an arrancar, former Sexta Espada, a bitter rival, standing in front of him and asking him what he was supposed to be doing with himself now that the war was over. Grimmjow was one seriously dazed and confused ex-Espada.

Once the outburst had ended, the bathroom had become uncomfortably quiet. A long moment passed, and Kurosaki was actively considering sinking under the still water and drowning himself just to cut the tension.

He aimed a cautious glance sideways, away from the calming ripples, and towards the now silent Sexta, who was staring at him with an intensity and unreadable expression that was beginning to unravel his already frayed nerves. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from Ichigo. Well what the hell was he supposed to say to him?

_There there, it's going to be okay, Grimmjow? I'm just glad that I kept you going? Yes of course I'll fight you? I made a promise after all?_

"Uhh... ehm... " Ichigo attempted to speak and failed miserably.

Grimmjow let out a long suffering sigh and scratched his fingers roughly through his thick blue hair when he realized Kurosaki wasn't going to give him any coherent response. He didn't have the words Grimmjow needed to hear. But was it really any less than he'd expected? What was one human boy going to do for him?

He never should have brought it up. He'd never even intended to, but lately his "emotions" had become even more unstable than usual as the realization of what lay ahead for him in his own solitary existence had really sunk in. Feeding and existing wasn't enough any more. And now on top of it all, he was disgusted with himself. He was being a total pansy ass piece of shit, crying like a bitch about his problems to his sworn enemy. An embarrassment (just like Aizen and all of the other Espada had thought).

"Never fucking mind Kurosaki. Just wipe the crap off yourself. You smell like something I wiped my ass with."

Ichigo glared hotly at the side of the tub, reluctant to send any kind of challenge to the clearly unbalanced Espada. The teen found it debatable that Grimmjow would even have the kind of intimate knowledge necessary to make a remark like that when he so obviously had an exceptionally long, sliver infested stick permanently jammed up his ass.

Ichigo took an exploratory sniff and frowned. Disgusting as Grimmjow's comment was, it was true. Even through the lightly scented bubbles, he smelled rank. He wondered offhandedly how Grimmjow had even managed to stand being so close to him while he'd slept. _So close to him_. A shiver ran through him at the thought, even though he lay wrapped in the warm caress of the water.

Grimmjow stood and turned away, hiding the heat spreading across his face as he fully realized what he'd just done, how he'd just fucking bared himself to this fucker. _Fuck._ Well it didn't matter, 'cause he was gonna kill the little shit soon anyway. He couldn't leave things like this right now though. He needed to reassert himself, regain some sort of normalcy... the little good it would do at this point. As he passed through the door he growled out a command.

"Call me when you're done, and don't try to get out by yourself 'cause you'll just end up falling on your ass again." After he disappeared around the corner he yelled, "And don't take too fucking long."

Ichigo sank lower into the water, not bothering to glower at the empty doorway. God he was bossy.

Well this just sucked. He needed a plan to get out of here. He doubted he could take him in a fair fight once he was healthy, not at his current power levels. That had already been proven. Maybe if he actually got to know him better they could work things out. He wondered if just getting to know Grimmjow would be enough. In Ichigo's experience, it usually wasn't. Once you got past all of the "crazy" of Kenpachi, there was just more... "crazy". He doubted Grimmjow would be any different.


	8. This ain't your bed little lamb

First Thank You for your reviews! Again, this story is essentially done. I'm just giving things the once over and then posting as fast as I can. So glad you are all enjoying it! I had said I would never write another story after I finished this, but i'm starting to enjoy the process more now that i've been feeling my writing improve. I have another idea for a Grim/Ichi, maybe more of a bromance, not sure yet, and I may actually write another story some day soon. But don't go holding your breath! I'm a slow writer! Love and X's! Junichiblue

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: This ain't your bed little lamb<strong>

The trip back to bed had been uneventful. Grimmjow had repeated the routine from before, figuring that holding his arm out and turning away would be the best way to keep Kurosaki from whining about his brief exposure. This time, he didn't even look. He was in no mood to play games right now, and after helping Ichigo back to the edge of the bed, he just turned away and dumped himself onto the couch.

Well, he wasn't going to fucking tuck him in now was he?

He watched as Ichigo briefly arranged himself under the covers of Grimmjow's king sized bed and then closed his eyes and stilled.

Ichigo couldn't fall asleep. He could feel it. The arrancar had been staring at him from across the room in silence for the past ten minutes. Eventually, Ichigo turned his head so that he faced the wall but it didn't help. He _knew_ he was still watching him. With an internal sigh, Ichigo finally broke down and gave the Sexta an annoyed and questioning look, prompting Grimmjow to tilt his head slightly. Ichigo figured he was finally about to share whatever deranged thoughts lurked in there. Grimmjow didn't disappoint.

"I'm getting fucking tired of waiting for you, Kurosaki. Why don't you call up that power of yours and heal yourself?"

"Huuh?" Instantly more irritated at what seemed like a ridiculous question, Ichigo responded quickly and snapped. "What the hell are you talking about? I can't just heal myself. That's stupid!"

Grimmjow's nostrils flared in response and his eyes narrowed dangerously, but he didn't reply. He wasn't going to ask the bitch twice.

Ichigo paused for a long moment, glowering back at the Espada. "What even makes you think I can do that?"

The Sexta regarded him with cool eyes, Ichigo's insolent tone grating on his nerves. He breathed deeply and continued.

"I know you can heal yourself," he growled irritably. "You did it when Ulquiorra blew a hole through you." He nodded his head upward. "Up on the roof."

"On the... uh... how do you know it wasn't Inoue that healed me?" Ichigo asked, genuinely curious.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, growing annoyed with the 'question with a question' routine. He leaned further back against the couch and huffed.

"Dipshit! I felt everything that was going on up there. You two dumb shits were releasing so much reiatsu, that the whole of Hueco damn Mundo could feel ya. And I know it wasn't the woman that fixed ya. So it had to be you."

Ichigo blinked. He could really _feel _all of that from down there?

"Ya, well it wasn't. It was my Hollow. He's the one with instant regeneration. Not me."

There was a long pause as Grimmjow assimilated the new information. So the Hollow had the instant regeneration, the thing that had emerged after Kurosaki died up there, and then decimated Ulquiorra. That was how Kurosaki had survived, he reasoned.

"So get _him_ to heal you then," he ventured, sounding and looking almost bored at the obvious answer. Ichigo's temper flared.

"I fucking _can't_! It doesn't work like that. If I let him out, then I have to fight him for my body back. Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass he is!" Ichigo stopped just short of yelling out his explanation.

Grimmjow sneered and it quickly stretched into a wicked grin.

"I can guess."

Ichigo snorted and gave him a withering look, then shut his eyes. Tired from the mental fatigue of dealing with Grimmjow, and already beginning to drift, he effectively ended the conversation.

* * *

><p>Ichigo sat on the edge of the bed and flexed his long fingers, taking comfort in the familiar energy that was finally running through them. Being able to keep food down had made all the difference and he was quickly beginning to feel like his old self again after a week of bed rest. Though how much of it was true rest was debatable, what with the arrancar bothering him every time he woke up, or worse, making himself present in ways that were far from comfortable for the teen. In the back of his mind, there was even a vague memory of the arrancar being in bed with him and… breathing on him, or, was it, kissing him? <em>Masaka.<em>

He wished dearly that it had been a nightmare but it felt oddly real, and the thought of it made him feel flushed. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and mentally threw the disturbing memory into the deepest darkest closet in the furthest corner of his mind and locked the door.

"Oy, Shinigami. You feeling all better?" Grimmjow stood in the open doorway, one arm out of view behind the door, as he leaned against it.

Speak of the devil himself. Though it didn't show on his face, Ichigo shuddered inside. It was harder to lock a mental door that one would think.

"Ah," was all he said, not quite making eye contact.

"Well, come on then, idiot! Get your ass up and let's get moving!" Grimmjow punctuated the command by pulling out the object he'd kept just out of sight behind the thick wood of the open door, and launching it straight at Ichigo.

"Ahhh! Ta ta ta ta!" Ichigo's eyes flew open in horror as a huge chunk of metal flashed and spun once around through the air towards him. He scrambled to catch it, trying desperately to avoid the sharp blade of Zangetsu.

"What the hell Grimmjow? You never throw a blade at somebody you prick! What the hell?"

"Che. Whatever." Grimmjow rolled his eyes and sneered, intentionally mocking him as he strolled out the door.

Ichigo didn't realize he was even up off the bed and following the arrancar until he was through the door and trailing down the corridor after him. Ichigo was about to launch into a tirade when he realized...

Grimmjow had given him back Zangetsu.

_Ah?_

And he had his back turned.

_Uh huh._

Ichigo didn't know whether to be excited or insulted.

Grimmjow hadn't changed much physically. He'd always stood several inches taller than Ichigo, but he looked like he'd filled just out a bit more, his shoulders broader than Ichigo's, his muscular frame more pronounced. Even though Ichigo had filled out as well in the past year in his own wiry way, he imagined he looked a like a malnourished street kid next to the brawny arrancar. He hadn't been very fit when he'd gotten his ass handed to him in Karakura, and he'd lost even more weight since he got here. It made him feel small. He decided there was no way he could attack Grimmjow right now. It would be a stupid move on his part.

The arrancar turned his head to look back at his lagging shadow.

"Oy. You staring at my ass, Shinigami?"

"W-what! NO!" Ichigo flushed an angry shade of red and glared hard at the floor in horror, but after a moment's hesitation, followed anyway.

"Then quit pissing about and get up here." Grimmjow turned away and grinned. Kurosaki was so easy to mess with.

* * *

><p>As soon as they reached a doorway that lead to the desert inside Las Noches, Grimmjow glanced over his shoulder and nodded in the direction he wanted to go, then leapt into sonido without a word. He didn't want to risk destroying the building he lived in. Ichigo shunpoed after him.<p>

Several minutes later Grimmjow stopped so suddenly that Ichigo almost barrelled into him, skidding instead into the soft desert surface up to his knees and showering himself with sand.

"What the hell you tool?" He coughed and sputtered, shaking sand out of his orange hair like a dog as he pulled himself out of the sand and regained his footing. "You could have at least warned m..."

"Get ready, Kurosaki." Grimmjow pulled out Pantera without turning around, waiting for the sound of Ichigo's blade to be drawn.

Ichigo didn't move. Zangetsu stayed right where it was, on his back. He had no plans to cooperate with his captor, and he had every intention of making Grimmjow regret bringing him here.

"I don't know what you think you're going to get out of this Grimmjow. It's not going to prove anything."

"Take out your fucking sword."

"If you kill me, then what, huh? Who else are you going want to kill after I'm gone?" Ichigo could see the slight change in the Espada's breathing, and hear the subtle noise of increasing agitation that he was making in his throat. "I don't care which one of us is strongest Grimmjow. I only fight because I have to, not just because I want to go out and pick a fight."

"I'd stop if I was you," Grimmjow said with slow and deadly seriousness as he finally turned around, his grip on Pantera becoming visibly tighter.

Ichigo was not in the mood to heed the warnings. He never was.

"There is always going to be somebody stronger than you, no matter how many people you cut down. And even if you did get to the top, what then? You will have destroyed everyone beneath you. And what would be the point? Where's the glory in that? You would be alone."

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. Hearing himself say those words while under the influence of the drink was one thing, but he didn't have anything even remotely resembling the patience to have them thrown back in his face, and by that smarmy Kurosaki Ichigo of all people.

"Do you really want to do this, Grimmjow?"

"The more you talk, the more I want to do this," he said flatly. Grimmjow was sober now, and much more dangerous. He wasn't going to fight Kurosaki while under the dulling influence of sake. Impossible as it was, he would just have to keep his temper in check. He had shit to do here. He was going to learn this brat some things, bring him back up to the level he knew he should be at. And the mouthier Kurosaki was, the more he would make it hurt.

Ichigo mentally kicked himself. His mouth was going to get him killed. But he just couldn't help himself. He hated Grimmjow with every cell in his body for bringing him here, for just not being willing to leave things the fuck alone. Miserable bastard. There was no avoiding a fight with the homicidal arrancar. He reached back and unsheathed his zanpakuto.

With a feral roar, Grimmjow brought his sword up and attacked.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow could tell that Kurosaki was almost done. The fight had started off on a weak leg, and now it was slowly winding down to an unsatisfactory conclusion for the Espada. He couldn't go all out on the kid yet and rough him up like he had before, or Grimmjow would be stuck babysitting him for another week, and that had just fucking sucked.<p>

He dearly needed to murder something, but Kurosaki was still off limits. It was like having a deep itch that you couldn't scratch. And his half-assed fighting style wasn't helping to ease Grimmjow's frustrations. If anything, it was making him more irritable. He expected bigger things from Kurosaki. So, he had better damn well step up. Where_ was _the kid's fire? They were never going to get anywhere if Kurosaki didn't want to kill him.

As far as Ichigo was concerned, the fight was nothing more than a dirty schoolyard brawl. There was no meaning in it for him. He wasn't fighting to save anyone this time, except maybe himself. The idea that with himself out of the way, Grimmjow could eventually go after his friends and family, hadn't really dawned on him, and though he swung his sword fiercely, it was empty of resolve and its cuts were shallow.

At first, the Shinigami had pulled the same bullshit as before with his mask, until Grimmjow had grown tired of his sissy antics and had descended on him like a plague, forcing him to keep it on. Grimmjow could feel annoyance and anger radiating off the Shinigami but he was easily dodging most of the kids blows. And the ones he did land were almost completely blocked by his hierro. Grimmjow considered this as he struck Kurosaki in the back with his leg for the third time, sending him reeling across the sand. Maybe this was a good time to bring up that whole "kiss situation".

"You know Kurosaki, I can still _taste you_ on my lips. Can you still taste me?" He leered at Ichigo and flicked his tongue across his lips as he swung Pantera down through the space where Ichigo had just been, sand spraying into the air around him. He twisted around just in time to catch Kurosaki's blade with his own.

"Bastard. Don't drag me into your sick games, you pig," Ichigo spat petulantly, flushing seven shades of red as he finally struck back in real anger.

"You sure seemed to like it, Shinigami." He sneered as he parried.

"Keh. You should thank me, arrancar. That's the closest thing to a real kiss you're sorry ass is ever going to get."

"..."

_Mother. Fucker. _Grimmjow's mind came to a painful halt. He was speechless. And he didn't know why the hell that comment stung so much. Maybe just because it was_ meant_ to? That had to be it, because it wasn't as if _that_ was anywhere on his list of things to do. And it definitely wasn't the reaction he'd hoped for.

He suddenly didn't feel like fighting anymore. Rather, he felt like gutting the Shinigami and feeding him his own insides. He had to end this before he did kill him. It was time to wrap things up here and send home a clear message.

And then damn him if he wasn't going to go get good and sauced.

Ichigo blanched slightly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Grimmjow was looking at him eleven different ways, each one making him decidedly uncomfortable. And Grimmjow wasn't talking anymore. The banter had ceased and a deadly silence hung in the air. To Ichigo, the fight was suddenly and inexplicably beginning to feel as serious as it ever had. He knew that he seemed to possess an inherent talent for bringing Grimmjow's wrath down on himself. He should probably get that checked.

The slight shift in the Espada's body language was unmistakable. He may as well have a neon sign above his head that read, beware of owner. Ichigo scrambled for footing in the loose sand as the Espada disappeared. Grimmjow came at him so fast that he didn't even tuck or brace, slamming his flat palm violently into Kurosaki's chest and throwing him back against the remains of a small building.

Ichigo hit the wall hard, the last remnants of his mask exploding into fragments before dissolving into nothing. Grimmjow was on him in an instant, hand locked around his neck, pointy sword slicing straight towards his stomach.

Time stood still. Ichigo gaped. He almost couldn't believe it. He was really about to die.

The Espada was long practised and well acquainted with Pantera. She was a perfect extension of himself, and his control was absolute. In one smooth motion, with a quick flick of a strong wrist and sleight of nimble fingers, Grimmjow flipped the sword over before it could impale the soft flesh of Ichigo's abdomen. Ichigo doubled over in surprise and pain as the butt end of Pantera slammed into him, driving the air from his lungs. Grimmjow went smoothly down with him onto one knee, keeping Pantera in its place, and grabbed the back of Ichigo's hair to pull his head up so he could see his eyes.

"You're dead," he hissed.

He let go and stood, pushing Ichigo back down into the sand, where he stayed, doubled over, wheezing, and fish-mouth gasping for air that refused to come without a struggle. Humiliated. Weak. Dead.

* * *

><p>Ichigo lay on his back between the sand and the fake blue sky long after Grimmjow had left. As he stared up at the blue dome he realized two things. First, he was simply no match for Grimmjow at his current level. And second, the arrancar hadn't been trying to break him, just... seeing how far he would bend.<p>

He blinked. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was training him. And it wasn't for his benefit, obviously. Kurosaki's stomach lurched as his mind made an appalling comparison. He was a lamb being raised for the slaughter.

* * *

><p>"Move it."<p>

Ichigo roused at the sharp command, his still slumbering brain confused when the bed suddenly dipped beside him as it accommodated another heavy weight.

"Uh? " He sat up quickly and twisted around to see what had caused the bed to move and wake him, grimacing as he did. His chest still ached from where the Espada had hit him. "Grimmjow? Wha-? What are you doing?"

It was obvious what the arrancar seemed to be doing, but he still couldn't believe it. He grabbed the sheets that had pooled around his waste and clutched them against his bare chest, inadvertently covering the bruise which was already beginning to bloom there. Sharp blue eyes caught sight of the mark before it disappeared, the faintly stained edges outlining the trace impression of a hand. An apt reminder.

The Espada stilled and glared at the teen, his muscles bunched as he half-kneeled, half crouched on all fours beside the wall, looking like a runner at the gate, or a large cat about to pounce. Ichigo could smell the alcohol rolling thickly off of his breath. _Jeez, had he been swimming in it?_

"Tch. The hell do you think I'm doing? I'm getting some damn sleep."

Ichigo stared at Grimmjow in bewilderment. He couldn't possibly be serious, could he?

"Oh no. Nooo no no no. Not in my bed." He fisted the sheets in his hand and flung a stern finger towards the sofa across the room, where Grimmjow's white cropped shirt lay in a heap. "Get out!"

The bluenet fixed him with a level stare, then turned away and casually resumed his efforts to make his space more comfortable, alternately smoothing down, then plucking at the sheets, before prodding the pillow with his fingers. Ichigo momentarily forgot his objections and tilted his head in undisguised wonder. _What the hell was he doing? Nesting?_

"I'm staying right here. The couch ain't that comfortable," the bluenet grumbled as he continued to kneed the pillow. Then suddenly, Grimmjow froze, and as if Ichigo's ill-considered demand had only just reached his ears, he punched the pillow and whipped around to face Ichigo, snarling.

"And this is _my_ fucking bed, Kurosaki! You don't like it, go sleep on the fucking floor!"

Ichigo scowled at the Espada, then turned away. He didn't like it, not one bit. He glanced back at Grimmjow, who was already laying on his side by the wall and watching him in the dim light with nefarious glowing eyes. How the hell was he supposed to sleep with that maniac beside him?

He looked at the couch. He looked at the floor. _To hell with it. _He slumped back down and yanked the covers over his shoulder crossly, and huffed, his stiff back turned to the Espada.

"Just stay on your side then," he mumbled.

"Che. Kick me and I'll punch a hole through ya."

There was lots of space on the large bed, little chance of either one accidentally coming into contact with the other, but that didn't stop Ichigo from scooting as close to the edge of the bed as he could without actually toppling off. He would put up with it for one night if he had to.


	9. Smashed

This is one of my weaker chapters. A whole lotta internal stuff, a little less action. But never fear, it picks up again! XX Junichiblue

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Smashed<strong>

Weeks passed, how many days exactly Ichigo couldn't begin to say as the mock sun burned an eternal hole in the mock sky. Society's clocks, hounding people with their endless tick tick ticking, meant nothing here. In Hueco Mundo you were officially off the clock. Ichigo slept when he was tired, and argued irrationally with Grimmjow, fought constantly with Grimmjow, and bickered pointlessly with Grimmjow when he was awake, and then slept again when he was inevitably exhausted from the arguing and the fighting and the pointlessness of it all. And he slept of course when he was grievously injured.

Tell you what. It was fucking depressing.

Ichigo was in hell, subject to Grimmjow's whims and moods. And if Grimmjow was a woman he'd be in flat out PMS from hell twenty four seven, and with all the power to back it up. It was difficult for Ichigo (or any licenced psychologist) to predict the arrancar's mood swings at the best of times. This fact alone kept the teen on his toes.

Ichigo's progress had been slow, and he frequently wondered how long the arrancar would maintain his unhealthy interest in torturing him. And after many weeks of the same shit, he was beginning to realize with no small amount of dread, that the unstable bastard might never run out of steam.

There was only one upside to all of this that he could see. Grimmjow didn't wear flip flops. Those damn things had really hurt. And Hyori had hit Ichigo with them almost as many times as she'd called him names. As much of a bitch as she was, they had been fighting on the same side, working towards the same goals.

Grimmjow and Ichigo though, they were just as much enemies as ever, like two volatile chemicals, outwardly inert when separated, but when mixed together, instantly reactive, one small miscalculation or an imprecise measurement easily setting off an explosive chain reaction.

It was a twisted game they were playing, one that needed Ichigo to stay on his feet as badly as it needed Grimmjow to dominate. It felt like an impossible situation to the teen, being caught walking that sensitive line between keeping the arrancar's lust for battle satisfied, and keeping himself alive in hopes of securing an eventual way out.

So in the interest of escaping this prison, Ichigo was just going to have to keep getting stronger, just like before, until he could finally beat Grimmjow again, assuming Grimmjow didn't actually succeed in killing him first, and force the Espada to let him go.

Being at or approaching the same level as Grimmjow came with the genuine risk of the psychotic bluenet finally deciding it was time to carry out his promise to obliterate the substitute Shinigami. But still, to Ichigo it was the obvious answer. He would have to hold back until he was ready.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez didn't feel like fighting today. He was too goddamn annoyed.<p>

He'd been sparring regularly with Ichigo for five weeks, attacking him, pushing him. And maybe two weeks ago, the kid had just suddenly stopped improving. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. If he had to hold himself back much longer he was going to lose it. How was he supposed to prove his worth against a worthless opponent? Maybe Kurosaki had reached his limit. It didn't make sense to Grimmjow, but if that was the case then there was no more point to this contest. No meaning in his victory. He might as well just kill him.

It was the kind of difficult decision a king would need make. And he _was_ the king of this wretched place after all, and the Shinigami, his only subject.

He stared out in disgust at the moonlit desert without really seeing it as he perched on the edge of the balcony and shifted, clear liquid sloshing back and forth inside the half empty bottle of sake that rested between his knees.

Grimmjow had been king amongst his group of adjuchas, and he never could quite adjust to living under Aizen's rule. That was the fundamental problem with stepping up to play in the big leagues of the Espada. He had been made infinitely stronger, only to be, in a sense, demoted. He had been the biggest fish in his small pond, until he was dropped into a much larger body of water. In his mind though, he was still rightfully a king.

Grimmjow never had any particular sense of loyalty to Aizen or his group of arrancar or anyone. And it took a firm hand to keep him in line. That was part of his nature, his panther persona that he'd worn for so long as an adjuchas. He had stayed with Aizen because that was part of the deal he had made. If he joined Aizen he would get the best of both worlds, all of the strengths and none of the weaknesses. And if he ever tried to leave, there would be dire consequences.

So, he had become the infamous Sexta Espada, a hurricane, a godly force of nature. Anyone caught in his path would be crushed.

He had been drunk on his new power, and he had been proud of his Sexta tattoo. It showed the world that it should fear him.

Now he saw it for what it truly was.

That _6_ was nothing more than a cattle brand.

He threw the bottle back until it was empty, gulping the fiery liquid down without taking a breath. The deary landscape soon faded and shifted out of sight, and worn out reels of old battles and wounded pride began to play across the backs of closed lids.

...

Grimmjow knew he was considered bothersome to be sure. He had heard the not so whispered words echo through the great hall, listened as the other arrancars described him as the most uncontrollable, defiant and disagreeable warrior amongst all of Aizen's Espada. That was fine with him.

But then they had said he wasn't fit to be amongst them, didn't have the skills, didn't possess the power. The fact that many of the arrancar barely tolerated one another, and that nasty little commentaries like those were a commonplace occurrence, didn't make the digging thorn any less sharp.

They had stepped on his pride. The obvious recourse would be to butcher them all. He would start with the kid, fix Ulquiorra's mistake, make the fuckers eat their words before he killed them. The substitute Shinigami should have been easy to defeat, but he'd been saved. That made him number one on the Sexta's shit list. A warm up. Ulquiorra would be next. Tousen's turn would come later.

At first, Grimmjow hadn't known how lucky he really was, but he'd come to see the truth eventually, that if it weren't for the fact that Tousen and the Quatra had been so loyal and so proficient at their jobs, and that subsequently no real harm had ever come to Aizen's plans from Grimmjow's actions, Aizen would have put the Sexta down permanently.

As it was, letting the disobedient arrancar get away with but the loss of one arm had clearly amused the ex-Shinigami and humiliated the suddenly demoted Espada, putting him in his place in the process. _In his place? His fucking place was on that throne._ But it was all part of Aizen's twisted game of punishment and reward. It was a cruel game that Grimmjow brought upon himself with his defiant nature. He didn't deny that.

Then Aizen had fucking tried to get rid of him, sending him back to the real world, less one arm, to take up with Soul Society's Shinigami one more time. He thought Grimmjow needed both arms to beat a lowly Shinigami? Well, fuck him. Grimmjow had done as he was told to a point. Then he had immediately taken off like a greyhound from its gate in search of Ichigo.

Fortunately for Grimmjow, he did prove himself useful, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what he'd done right. The timing of Ulquiorra's arrival had never been a coincidence, and Grimmjow had been forced back to Hueco Mundo like a dog on a leash. It was disgusting. He wasn't anybody's pet.

...

Grimmjow's blue eyes were glazed as he opened them and stared blankly ahead from his place on the ledge. He clung to it, the past, the memories, painful or not, because his old way of life was all that he knew, because without it what was he? And what was his legacy? He wouldn't even be remembered as the Espada who beat Kurosaki Ichigo, the famed substitute Shinigami.

He was king of nothing. Remembered by no one.

He would have killed the brat, but it was damn near impossible to kill someone like Ichigo when people were always getting in the fucking way. He'd had Ichigo dead to rights twice and would have ended their feud if not for the last second interference from that woman Shinigami, and one of the Visored. He'd been twice as powerful as Ichigo and had cut Grimmjow down with little effort.

Grimmjow had been beside himself with cold rage. Cut to shreds and defeated, he'd had risen from all three limbs, wielded his sword and lunged in an bloodied and hopeless attempt to defeat his new adversary. Despite the obvious loss, Grimmjow had apparently done well, and Aizen had sent Ulquiorra to retrieve the broken Espada before he got himself killed. And his rewards had been great. Orihime worked her dark magic on his lost arm, and Aizen had allowed him to take back his rank of Sexta Espada. Punishment and reward.

It seemed to Grimmjow that he had often found himself in some sort of trouble with Aizen, almost from the day he was created. It wasn't that Grimmjow didn't do what he was told... most of the time. It's that he tried to do things he wasn't told to do.

When he had openly defied Aizen's command to return to his seat instead of going out to kill Ichigo when he and his ragtag group of intruders had invaded his home, Grimmjow hadn't so much stood there glaring back at Aizen out of defiance but rather, complete fucking confusion. He was trying to work out what in the fuck was wrong with the pompous ex-Shinigami. What kind of leader didn't want you to kill the enemy?

Grimmjow had felt immense frustration. He didn't understand these games that Aizen played. They were in a war weren't they? If the enemy attacks you, you get the hell out there and beat him down, don't you? His hesitation had earned him swift punishment, and he'd been crushed by Aizen's overwhelming spiritual pressure, and ridiculed in front of the others for his 'insolence and impatience'. He had been able to do nothing but fume in impotent outrage.

It had always been a fucked up relationship. Aizen knew that Grimmjow's lack of respect for him would wind Tousen up. He allowed Tousen to remove Grimmjow's arm, and then gave Grimmjow the fucking "gift" of his arm back, and thus his place amongst the Espada, a supposed symbol of being worthy again. Aizen knew extensively Grimmjow's inner workings even if he himself was unaware of them at the time. He wanted more power, and he yearned for respect, almost desperately. And Aizen, the master manipulator, had used that weakness and toyed with him, playing him and using him against the young Shinigami.

And recently he had finally learned the whole truth from Kurosaki, that Aizen had been trying to make the substitute Shinigami more powerful all along. Grimmjow's efforts had been nothing more than test of Ichigo's strength and a force to push him further in his development. Thanks to all of Grimmjow's spilled blood, Ichigo was going to get the push he needed to grow stronger still, to move towards the monster Aizen wanted him to become.

Creator or not, he hated that man. And wasn't that a bitch. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, famed Sexta Espada, had had daddy issues. And he had taken out all of his frustrations on Kurosaki.

The kid had always taken the brunt of his rage. He snorted. So what? He didn't give two shits about anything. He was the great Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, feared Sexta Espada, and a king.

No. He wasn't really an Espada anymore. Fuck. Those 'glory' days were over, a memory and nothing more. He missed that feeling, a sense of belonging to something, of fighting for a cause bigger than himself. Whether he really believed in it or not was irrelevant, and not that he particularly fought for anyone but himself in the first place, but he'd had purpose. That time was over.

He was just plain old Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez now. Arrancar. Hollow. And he felt it right down to his hollow core.

Grimmjow leaned forward and put his head in his hands. They were trembling. Pathetic.

He scrubbed viciously at the dampness that had begun to form in his eyes, a humiliating by-product born of intense frustration and sudden self loathing.

Aizen had found him quite literally on the verge of becoming a Vasto Lord. He could almost feel the change happening before he'd been turned into an arrancar by Aizen's Hougyoku. If only he'd had a little more _time_ to evolve on his own, things might have been different. He might have been more powerful than the Quatra.

_They_ might have even won the war.

But they didn't. And now he was just a shell of his former self with nothing left to exist for, just a dark barren land and an endless loop of time, and the damn substitute Shinigami. He snorted. The hell it with all of it. Nobody ever said the afterlife was fair. He'd been fighting with Kurosaki for week after week, holding back, and beating him easily every time, but it didn't cleanse away that pervasive feeling inside of him, that crushing sense of emptiness.

Nothing ever would.

He let the bottle drop from his hands and watched as it smashed into a million pieces on the rocks below.

Time. He had plenty of it now.

Perhaps he would give _Kurosaki_ just a little more time.

And maybe _he_ would win the war that Grimmjow couldn't.

* * *

><p>What fresh hell was this?<p>

When had it become that isolation was worse than seeking out your enemy for companionship? After almost five long weeks, Ichigo was actually starting to empathize, _not_, he reassured himself, sympathize with Grimmjow's solitary situation.

If he wasn't fighting or sleeping or arguing, he was bored to shit.

Las Noches was a huge place and Grimmjow tended to wander around the outskirts of it when he wasn't pestering Ichigo. Perhaps it was out of instinct to guard his territory. Or maybe he was just killing time. Ichigo had the feeling that it was a little more of one than the other. When he finally found him, he was sitting on the ledge of a lower level balcony on the outer wall of Las Noches, legs hanging over the edge, eyes staring unfocused across the endless desert sands.

He was almost motionless, as if lost in some intensely personal thought. Ichigo froze and held himself still, as quietly as he could, trying to keep his spiritual pressure calm and even. He didn't think he should be here, feeling very much like a voyeur intruding on a very complex and private moment. He didn't want to startle Grimmjow. Just being here at this moment could be enough to start a fight. And Ichigo didn't feel like fighting today.

Grimmjow suddenly slumped forward, head cradled in his hands. Even from this distance Ichigo could see that he was visibly shaking.

He winced in discomfort, disturbed by the emotional display that looked so incredibly out of place on the fierce and powerful arrancar, and surprised at how much it physically bothered him to see it. And so he slowly began to step back around the corner, hoping against hope to go unnoticed by the obviously distressed Espada.


	10. A clash of wills

**Chapter Ten: A clash of wills**

After weeks of getting his ass kicked six ways to Sunday, Ichigo had had _enough_.

It was late in Ichigo's day and they were in the midst of another heated battle, both combatants sporting several cuts and bruises, Ichigo clearly looking as if he was coming out of it at the wrong end again.

But he was about to change all that.

He'd been using his mask, gradually extending the time he was able to keep it formed. But he'd been carefully holding back, deliberately allowing the mask to shatter prematurely. He could see the effect its was having on the Espada, frustratingly him and inciting him to push Ichigo harder, their encounters growing steadily more bloody and violent. That was just another painful inconvenience for Ichigo. Even though he'd been using his mask, he'd been leaving himself intentionally open and suffering greatly for it. It was necessary so that Grimmjow would still able to keep up easily without going into his powerful resurrection form.

Well, so far so good. His deception hadn't been uncovered, and now Ichigo had the element of surprise, and if he played his cards right, he could catch Grimmjow off guard, not give him the chance to enter his resurrection, and take him down.

The less mature part of Ichigo's mind found it pretty damn amusing that the great Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez didn't have the slightest clue what Ichigo was really capable of at this moment. And Ichigo was beginning to feel cocky because of his newly recovered strength, more daring, taking a perverse pleasure in antagonizing his opponent. He told himself he was doing it with purpose, and the aim was simple. Agitate him. Throw Grimmjow off his game. Make him make a mistake. But he couldn't deny that he was getting a kick out of it.

"You should look up Ikaku or Kenpachi. They love to fight and their as crazy as you," Ichigo offered, amber eyes blazing with disdain.

"It ain't them I have a beef with right now, Shinigami," the Espada growled.

Ichigo intercepted a blow from Grimmjow's sharp zanpakuto that was aimed at his head, only to feel the air knocked from his lungs as Grimmjow broadsided him with his shoulder and a well placed elbow. Ichigo flew back and came up hard against a solid piece of rubble, the remnants of some building or another, and slid down the wall until he landed on his ass in the sand. He was breathing hard as he pushed himself up. The mask was slowly wearing away, the remaining piece only covering his left eye and cheekbone.

"You keep calling me _Shinigami_ like it's such a bad thing," he panted.

"So what?" The Sexta responded coldly, blue eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. "The Shinigami are a fucking embarrassment. Bunch of bleeding fucking hearts always protecting the weak when the weak don't deserve to be saved. I'm surprised you can even show your face in that form, Kurosaki."

Even from ten feet away, Ichigo noticed the way the skin on his nose near his eyes creased into ridges as he glowered, making him seem all the more catlike.

"_You're_ part Shinigami too, Grimmjow," he spat. For a moment the Espada was silent. His eyes flickered and Ichigo caught a fleeting glimpse of something else lurking behind the aggression and unveiled contempt. They seemed troubled, confused.

The old Grimmjow saw everything in black and white. He knew he wanted to kill Ichigo and the reasons why were simple. _"I'm a Hollow and your a Shinigami... what other reason do I need?"_ That's what he had told him before Ichigo had stabbed him through the chest and then, so gently, so _fucking humanely_, laid him down in the sands of Hueco Mundo. Fucking asshole. His lip curled up in disgust.

"Don't lump me in with your fucking kind. I have their fucking powers. That's all."

"Please," Ichigo scoffed. "You're just as much a Shinigami now as you are a Hollow. And you were human once too, remember? You're just like me Grimmjow." Ichigo died just a little inside as he made that connection. And yet he couldn't deny it. They were mirror images of one another, Ichigo with the best of intentions for everybody else, Grimmjow with the best of intentions for himself. He cringed. Alike. That was rich.

"Are you dense, Kurosaki? We are nothing the fuck alike." The Espada's head dropped forward and azure eyes fixed Ichigo with a fierce glare from beneath narrowed lids.

Despite himself, Ichigo had come to understand Grimmjow's emotional limits. He was maddeningly irrational when truly agitated, and he was getting close. Ichigo began to take slow and purposeful steps towards the Sexta, challenging him.

"Maybe you _are_ right, Grimmjow. Maybe we're not that alike. I mean, I'm at least able to _control_ my Hollow."

"Just keep on talking Shinigami," he warned as he moved in to meet him, Pantera's hilt casually spinning around in his hand, playing through his fingers, and the blade arcing down past his hips and up past his head repeatedly as it sliced through the air. "I'm gonna lose my shit."

_Good_, Ichigo thought.

The Sexta faked a low slash with his sword towards Ichigo's legs. It was a punk move, a decoy to force Ichigo to leave his upper body exposed, and as soon as Ichigo caught Pantera's edge with his own sword, Grimmjow reached across and punched him hard in the face. He struck him with every ounce of the considerable hate he felt for him in that moment, and was rewarded with a very satisfying crunch. Ichigo's cry of pain was muffled by Grimmjow's fist, and he fell several steps back, loosely clutching his nose with one hand.

Grimmjow's eyes raked over the injured teen, surveying the damage he'd received during their skirmish, and the anger that had threatened to boil over a moment ago came down just a notch or two, now that he'd messed up his pretty face. But his irritation returned full force when the orange haired Shinigami carelessly wiped away the blood that was oozing down over his lips and sneered. It stretched slowly into a wide angry grin, the slash of white teeth a sharp contrast against the red stained lips.

"My little sister hits harder."

_Son of a..._ Grimmjow was becoming incensed. What the hell had gotten into Kurosaki? He was mouthy as shit today. It almost felt like old times. The young Shingami was acting like is old overconfident self, spitting snitty little barbs and provocative comebacks that easily stirred up the Espada's wrath. Except this time, Kurosaki didn't have the power to back it up.

Grimmjow erupted forward, shunpoing far enough into Ichigo's personal space that the teen could make out the individual rings of colour in the Sexta's eyes, and bodily hauled him up by the scruff of his shihakusho. He slammed him back into the wall of rock and hissed in warning as the last of the painted mask split into pieces and fell away, the pinned teen's eyes returning to normal, the sunlight catching them and turning them a warm honey brown that didn't go unnoticed by the Espada, even in the heat of his rising temper.

"You might as well just give up, Kurosaki. You're done and you know it."

"I will..." Ichigo forced the words out through clenched teeth, and Grimmjow grinned. "...NEVER submit to you."

Ichigo brought both legs up between them and kicked out as hard as could, throwing the Sexta back across the sand, creating enough distance between them to give himself time to manoeuvre.

The Espada's eyes narrowed dangerously as his grin fell away, turning to a snarl full of sharp teeth.

After sharing a space as tiny as Las Noches with an ego as large as Grimmjow's, Ichigo had learned that you quickly get to know a lot about a person, whether you want to or not, and Ichigo knew just what to say to hurt Grimmjow the most. His chest constricted, and his heart pounded as the harsh words left his mouth, his voice hard like the grinding of glass.

"You're _nobody's_ king."

" ... "

The words hit his brain like a physical blow, and in an instant Grimmjow wanted nothing more than to wrap his jaws around Kurosaki's neck and tear out his jugular with his teeth.

Ichigo felt the warning spike as Grimmjow's power suddenly rolled off of him violently, thick and dark, and full of malicious intent. With wild eyes and an enraged bellow, the Sexta launched himself at the Shinigami.

Grimmjow had officially lost his temper. This was his opening. It was now or never.

Ichigo raked his hand sharply across his face, instantly reforming his mask, and sliced Zangetsu through the air.

"Getsuga Tenshou."

_The hell?_ Grimmjow's eyes widened in shock and confusion, his dark pupils contracting into two pin points as the immense wave of black energy crashed into him at point blank range, the full force of it's sharp edge searing hot against his hierro, pushing Grimmjow along with it. He barrelled upwards, crashing through a row of towers, the first three breaking apart on impact. He slammed into the top of the fourth tower with an unholy crunch as arm and rib bones bent and snapped.

Normally, if the Sexta Espada struck an object, it gave. This one did not.

Grimmjow plummeted into the sand below and lay crumpled in a heap at it's base, the tower above undamaged, mocking him. The Sexta's head reeled as the explosion of stars swarmed over his vision, and his lungs burned wildly for air. He strained with one arm to push himself out of the sand, only to fall back down and land in an awkward sprawl on his back against the tower, cursing a string of obscenities before his world finally spun away.

Ichigo shunpoed down to where the Espada had fallen. Grimmjow was unconscious. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for, and for once, Ichigo wasted no time. He had to end this nightmare now. God knew that Grimmjow had a history of popping back up unexpectedly. He raised his black sword over the prone man, tensed to thrust the blade down and drive it home... and an ugly reality slapped him in the face.

_Motherfu... _Ichigo's blood turned to ice in his veins, stopping him cold before he could bring his sword down and plunge it into the arrancar's exposed chest.

He had him. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Gift wrapped.

And he couldn't fucking kill him.

His breath came out harshly through his mask in an sibilant hiss. Well, of course he couldn't. And since when did he _want_ to? That had never been the plan. Ichigo wasn't a murderer. He couldn't kill a man while he was down like this. Besides, if he killed him, Grimmjow wouldn't be in the best condition to open a fucking garganta now would he? _Shit. _But if he didn't kill him, the Espada would just keep coming after him and Grimmjow's perverse games would never end. _Fuck. Shit. Fuck._

Ichigo reached up and released the mask. He waited for a long, anxious minute, hovering over the Espada, not sure at all about what he was going to do when Grimmjow came around, but he didn't have much time to think about it. The blue-haired man was already stirring.

Grimmjow groaned as he came to, a sad self-deprecating sound. His cheeks flushed in pain and embarrassment as the realization of what had happened bounced around his throbbing skull and slowly filtered through his brain. The Espada struggled to lift his head, weighted with lead and full of fog. He stilled as the point of Ichigo's blade came into sloppy focus and slipped beneath the base of his chin, lifting it slightly. Grimmjow's expression said nothing of fear as he looked up into the determined-to-be-threatening face of Kurosaki Ichigo.

"I hate to spoil your plans, Grimmjow, but it's over. You've lost."

_Lost? 'I'll never go down to someone like you.' Over? _The Espada's jaw tightened, and he thrust his chin up suddenly, causing the sword's tip to drag along the flesh of his exposed throat, drawing a fine red line down his neck, until it caught in his skin and nested inside the soft hollow beneath his Adam's apple.

"Knock yourself out, Kurosaki. You'll never... go home if you do...", he wheezed. It was a sure bet that at least one rib had punctured a lung.

Ichigo blinked, some of his scowl receding. Threats wouldn't work here. Grimmjow didn't scare. Ichigo's eyes widened slightly as the blue-haired arrancar persisted, forcing himself to speak around his shallow, ragged breaths.

"...and you ain't... getting out of here if you don't, either. So... you may as well... _just fucking do it_."

There was no mistaking his tone. Ichigo knew that Grimmjow's words were not intended as a taunt. The stupid shit had meant it. Ichigo gaped in astonishment for a split second before he caught himself and frowned.

"Whatever, Grimmjow. You going to sit there running your mouth or are you going to let me go?"

Ichigo held the blade firm, being careful not to move it, and trying to shrug off the Espada's troubling demand, while his mind raced in a mad search to find some sort of resolution to what was fast becoming an awkward situation for the teen. He didn't want a stalemate. He wanted a win.

Grimmjow growled in anger. Waiting to be killed was killing him. Kurosaki was purposely making him suffer this pain and humiliation for as long as he could because he was enjoying this, because he was, at the heart of it, just as much of an arrant bastard as Grimmjow.

"C'mon you motherfucker! You know you want to!" he barked, his voice cracking as he dissolved into a broken fit of coughing, causing blood to spill in a steady trickle from the shallow wound in his throat.

Kurosaki's fierce scowl returned, and for an instant his lip twitched along with the hand that was wrapped in a tight hold around the hilt of his sword.

"I don't _need_ to kill you."

"You cocky fuck," Grimmjow croaked. "You get off one _lucky_ shot... and you think your better than me? You couldn't be more fucking wrong! You'd still be nothing without me, Kurosaki!"

Now _that_ had been a fucking challenge, and Ichigo's reiatsu jumped in response. A flick of the wrist was all it would take.

"Go screw yourself, Grimmjow," he snapped.

There wasn't anybody here to stop him.

"Blow me, Kurosaki," he hissed.

No one would ever judge him poorly for it.

In fact, everyone Ichigo knew, without a doubt, would want him to end the arrancar right now.

And still, he couldn't actually bring himself to do it. Ichigo stared dumbly down the length of his own sword at the bristling Espada, until insight suddenly struck him.

"You're not the only one who can open a Garganta, Grimmjow. If you're going to be such a stubborn goddamn prick about it, then I'll just ask another Hollow," he crowed. The corners of his mouth twisted up into a sneer, then just as quickly fell away. He had said the words as they came to mind, realizing too late that he shouldn't have said it at all. He'd finally found the answer and he'd just gone and squealed on himself.

"It's a good thing you're pretty," Grimmjow sneered. "You really are a stupid shit, aren't you?"

"Wha-? Oh, fuck off, Grimmjow."

"You'll never find... any Hollow's around here. And even if the sun... shone out your ass and you did... manage to find one, they'd never help a Shinigami... dog like you. Your sweet little ass... would just be food to them."

"Shut up."

"Get a grip on reality, Shinigami," Grimmjow panted. "In this place, I'm the closest thing to a friend that you've got."

"Screw you," Ichigo spat. Unbelievable. Ichigo was the one with the sword here but Grimmjow was the one twisting it. The Espada had an amazing ability to turn him inside out with only a few choice words.

Relief finally washed over Ichigo as he suddenly remembered another option, one that would be ideal... if it still existed.

"Then I'll find Nel. She can do it." _Oh, Shit._ He'd just done it again. Was he touched in the head? He could have punched himself.

Grimmjow shifted against the tower, then reached up, and with one finger flat on the blade, pushed the sword down and away from his neck. Ichigo let the blade fall, it being pointless as a threat, really. It had become obvious to both of them that he wasn't about to pull the proverbial trigger to end his feud with the arrancar once and for all.

The Espada stood shakily, leaning against the base of the tower for support, since Ichigo clearly wasn't offering to help. The kid obviously knew better than to add further insult to injury. Grimmjow put most of his weight on the one arm that wasn't lying limp and bent wrongly at his side. He winced at the sharp stabbing pain that sent sparks dancing across his vision, but he refused to go down again in front of Kurosaki. He glanced sideways at Ichigo, and raised a blue brow in confusion.

"Nel? The bebe? Hah. That brat's long gone."

"What? You... you didn't!" Ichigo's sword flashed upwards again, forcing the Sexta to either lean back or learn to breath through a real hole in his neck. Grimmjow's eyes widened before narrowing sharply into an affronted glare.

"What? Fuck off idiot. Like I would waste... my energy on that." Oh, he'd _wanted_ to kill her. Kurosaki wasn't the only person who had puked on him lately. But the fact was, that what she had done, no matter how revolting it was, had saved him.

Ichigo tilted his head forward in a threat, not willing to back off this time, not where Nel was concerned, never where his friends were concerned, until Grimmjow finally pulled away from the sword and collapsed back, his back and one hand supported against the tower. He took several pained breaths before he continued.

"The noisy brat left... when that freak Shinigami scientist came around... bolted for the desert." He waved his good hand in a lazy circle, a gesture he immediately regretted as it put more pressure on his back and shuffled his ribs.

Ichigo's sword dropped fractionally, now half forgotten as he listened to what had become of his young friend, urging Grimmjow to continue with his own silence.

"Was a long time before she came back. She stayed for awhile, kept fucking... following me around." Grimmjow's eyes focused somewhere past Ichigo as he remembered the last person who'd kept him company, some of his anger dissipating. "Smart enough to keep her distance though."

She'd stayed just close enough to get him to yell at her to leave him alone, but annoyingly far enough to dodge a cero if he'd ever actually bothered to throw one her way like he'd kept threatening to. She had saved him, and he owed her. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez repaid his debts. He hated to owe anyone anything.

"Then one day she walked right up to me... and said something about... Peschedondo something... and an eternal game of tag." Grimmjow snorted, though it hurt. "Creepy kid." Grimmjow blinked as he came back to the present, his cool eyes meeting Ichigo's. "And I ain't seen her since."

Ichigo looked up at the blue sky. It was a small relief to know that Nel was doing alright. He'd been half afraid that she may have been caught in the Shinigami's clean up wave, or worse, Mayuri's collection. He sighed, and then noticed the tower above him. It was in perfect condition. Not a scratch. His brows knit together in confusion.

"What happened, Grimmjow? Why didn't the tower break?"

"Heh. Szayel Aporro, sick fucker, was using it to hold Hollows... for experiments. He had it built out of seke seke stone... so souls... can't pass through. It's unbreakable."

"Uh... oh. Well. You're lucky you have such a hard head, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow growled but let the comment pass. He was actually in quite a bit of pain, and pounding on Kurosaki wasn't an option at the moment.

Ichigo turned to leave. He was in no danger of attack until Grimmjow was back to full power. This would be his only chance to try out his new plan. Grimmjow had seen his power now, and he wouldn't hold back and fight without his resurrection next time.

Grimmjow watched Ichigo limp across the sands, heading no doubt back to bed, his adrenaline high clearly leaving his body aching and weak. The kid hadn't come out of their fight unscathed by any means. Kurosaki would be recovering for the next full day at least.

Grimmjow let himself slide back down onto the ground and closed his eyes. This was as good and as safe a place as any to take a nap. Even _he_ wouldn't be able to tangle with a Hollow in the shape he was in right now. He needed to rest and then he needed to hunt. Aside from the bomb that had gone off in his head, he guessed that it was mostly just some broken bones and a tear in his lungs. He would heal fully in a day, maybe even less, his body being near full strength this time around. But a little extra spirit energy would go along way towards speeding up the process.

Blue eyes flew open as it only now dawned on him, concussed as he was. Kurosaki Ichigo had been holding back, pulling his punches. That sneaky little shit. That black Getsuga Tenshou had been the real deal. He knew, having been caught in the full force of it before.

"That fucking cheat!" he shrieked.

That perfect little hero was turning out to be a shady sonofabitch. Grimmjow was going to chew out his trachea and stomp his orange head ten feet into the ground... if he could just stand up. He felt his lids grow heavy as he slumped back against the tower, the brief surge of adrenaline leaving him utterly spent, but the image of Kurosaki's masked face still refused to let go of its grip on his consciousness. That attack had been a game changer.

That kind of power was what Grimmjow had been waiting for. This is what it had all been about. Kurosaki was at least a match for Grimmjow now without his resurrection, probably had been for some time too. Devious bastard. It seemed that maybe Grimmjow _had_ taught him a thing or two. He sighed and closed his eyes again, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and unease wash through him.

It seemed that Kurosaki was finally ready to go all out.


	11. Follow the Hollow

**Chapter Eleven: Follow the Hollow**

Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Ichigo slung insults at himself, wincing as he stalked down the white labyrinthine halls of Las Noches towards a nearby exit, wondering how he could ever have come up with a real way of escape and then just give up his idea like that.

He'd tried to act casual this morning after yesterday's disastrous encounter. Grimmjow had convalesced for the "night" in the crunchy sand at the base of the tower while Ichigo slept fitfully in Grimmjow's comfortable bed, wondering now just how badly the Espada was actually hurt.

When he'd first made it back to the room, Ichigo had sprawled across the entire bed, certain that Grimmjow wouldn't be returning any time soon after his fierce encounter with the stubborn tower. The teen had fallen quickly into a light sleep but he had roused soon after when he had turned over and his hand had come up against something hard. It was the wall. He had somehow wormed his way over to the place where the Espada had often chosen to sleep. And his orange head of hair was cushioned by the same pillow on which Grimmjow had chosen to rest his own head.

It smelled like he was there. Grimmjow's scent, so thoroughly meshed into the sheets, uneased him. It was a constant reminder that he _wasn't _there, that he was still _out there somewhere_, suffering his injuries alone.

It kept him awake for a time, the idea that he would even be thinking about Grimmjow's well being at all, when the only thing he _should_ be worrying about was his own. And it pissed him off. What happened to Grimmjow now was none of his concern.

The population of Las Noches was going to drop by one tomorrow.

As soon as he was able, Kurosaki Ichigo was leaving.

Grimmjow had eventually shown up, pale and limping, and had checked in on Ichigo without a word to him, both hybrids looking equally worse for wear, before he reluctantly left. Ichigo tried his best to make sure that he didn't _look_ like he was well enough to go anywhere. And Grimmjow seemed to have bought it.

Ichigo was counting on Grimmjow's instincts to work in his favour now. The Espada disappeared for hours at a time to feed on Hollows fairly regularly, usually after Ichigo was hurt badly enough to require a good long nap and some bandages. And so, their violent sessions always came with at least a half day's respite from Grimmjow's persistent nagging while Ichigo's wounds closed.

Ichigo thought about Grimmjow's eating habits as he waited half in the shadows by the doorway, only the teen's handsome face and strawberry hair lit by the moonlight.

Grimmjow actually ate food now because Ichigo ate food. The Sexta had said he'd never touched the tea Aizen had set before him. Not once. It smelled like dirt to him. But food, some of it, he had recently decided, was alright. At first Grimmjow had often sat and watched the young Shinigami hungrily consume tray after tray of hot food, the stuff Ichigo himself had had to cook in the kitchen, because Grimmjow, non-eater that he was, didn't have a clue how.

The bluenet had been frightfully annoying actually. A few weeks into the teen's "training", he'd been standing over Ichigo, asking what the hell this was and what the fuck that was, and he had commented on how disgusting humans were to put that slimy looking thing called "fish" into their mouths.

That was the exact moment when Ichigo, left eye twitching, had snatched a fork from the counter top and stabbed it into a large chunk of seafood, and in an apparent death wish, had thrust it right into his captor's face and snapped.

"Either try it, or shut the hell up, or get the hell out."

Grimmjow had only snorted, sneering, but he had backed up... a _small_ step... but Ichigo had noticed.

"Heh. Fine, if you're really so_ afraid_, then just forget..."

The fork had been instantly ripped out of his hand, and Grimmjow was already swallowing the fish without so much as chewing it, before Ichigo had even finished trying to use his reverse psychology. The trident-like implement, the teen had also noticed, was thankfully imbedded deep into the solid stone counter top, and not him.

Ever since then, when Ichigo had sat down to eat, Grimmjow had always reached over, without invitation, and picked at a piece of this or that, chewing things thoughtfully, and commenting that most of it was 'not that bad'. And though Ichigo, for his part, had fumed and scowled at the intrusion on his meals, much to the delight and inevitableannoyance of Grimmjow, Ichigo had always quietly made a little extra. It was, after all, in his nature to think of others.

Ichigo's cooking wasn't much to talk about. His sister was the master chef of the house, but the teen could find his way intelligently around a kitchen if he needed to. It was a good thing he could. The Sexta Espada, it turned out, was a finicky eater, preferring fish and other meats to the healthy rice and vegetable side dishes that Ichigo usually prepared. And Grimmjow, much to Ichigo's complete confusion and distaste, had developed an odd affinity for fish and sweet bean paste. Well, Grimmjow could have his kitty treats if he wanted them. Ichigo was just happy to have enough leftovers for the days when he had to recover in bed and couldn't spare the energy it took to make a proper meal, even by his standards.

Well today was a recovery day, and Ichigo was bruised and sore, the skin around his left eye swollen and purple black from where Grimmjow had punched him outright during that last memorable confrontation. It wasn't that bad though. He was mobile and that's all he needed.

Ichigo waited with nervous anticipation by the outer doorway until he felt Grimmjow head off into the desert. The instant Grimmjow's reiatsu was far enough away as to fall out of range of his senses, Ichigo bolted in the other direction. He had to find a Hollow, threaten it, worry it, and hope it chose to evade him by running for the real world.

This was as really stupid idea. But next to being Grimmjow's bitch for the rest of his life, short as that might be, this seemed by far like the _least_ stupid idea.

Well, Grimmjow hadn't been lying about the local mass exodus. Ichigo shunpoed for nearly an hour before he sensed a weak Hollow. When he saw it, he was relieved. It was relatively harmless, a small fry, and that's what he'd been hoping for.

The second it noticed him, it took off. He had caught it out in the open, nothing but dunes and sky around them for miles. There was nowhere for it to hide, nothing for it to do but run. And after a few minutes of being chased, it ripped a hole in the air ahead of itself and ran into it. And Ichigo thanked God for this small miracle.

He ran a few short metres behind the retreating Hollow, Zangetsu readied in case it should turn on him. He wouldn't kill it though. He couldn't. He reminded himself again of just how many ways in which this was a stupid idea. If he killed the Hollow, the garganta might close and he'd be trapped in the empty space between worlds forever; a terrifying thought. But the Hollow didn't need to know that. Fortunately, it wanted nothing to do with the Shinigami and kept running.

Eternity passed by and finally, _finally_, a patch of clear blue sky rushed into view. Ichigo's heart lurched in excitement. He was home free. The instant he started to pass through the opening, he felt the heat of the sun on his face, the actual god damn sun.

He took a deep breath of fresh air and made to shunpo, the sight of the town far below him finally in his sights, and yelped as he was suddenly yanked off his feet from behind. Zangetsu was wrenched painfully from his hand, as an iron arm locked itself dangerously tight around his neck, cutting off any further cries of surprise.

"You little shit."

Ichigo grabbed the arm and arched his back as he struggled to loosen the grip._ Where the hell had he come from?_ Determined to get away, and fast becoming desperate for air, Ichigo brought one arm back, jabbing a sharp elbow hard into his attacker. It appeared to have little effect at first. There was only mild grunt of annoyance, but Grimmjow's temper had reached its limit. For a moment he lost control, and his spiritual pressure flared to near stifling levels, a tidal wave of power rolling off of him, smothering the Soul Reaper.

Under good circumstances, Ichigo wouldn't have been phased. They were equals after all. But already desperate for oxygen, black spots swimming in front of his eyes, Ichigo sagged under the crushing weight of the arrancar's reiatsu. Grimmjow felt him begin to slump and released him, instantly recovering his composure.

Ichigo came to in seconds, but still dizzy and off balance, he was caught roughly by his hair and gracelessly dragged backwards towards the other side, kicking, cursing, fighting, and screaming like a schoolgirl, until Grimmjow, without warning, brained him hard enough to put him out again while they returned across the expanse of void.

"You think you're fucking clever don't you, boy?"

That was the only thing Grimmjow had said to him after he'd finished dragging him back through the portal. He must have redirected the entrance because when he'd launched Ichigo with one arm unceremoniously through the opening at the last second, Ichigo had landed in a heap, face first, his chin scraping painfully on the hard stone of the courtyard he had been frequenting recently. Grimmjow said nothing else, just leapt off the edge of the garganta and sonidoed away, putting distance between them, and leaving Ichigo to fester in his own misery.

It appeared that the significance of the courtyard to Ichigo was not lost on the arrancar, and it was just another slap in the face that he should leave him in this place right now.

* * *

><p>The backlash from Ichigo's escape attempt was instantaneous. His reiatsu had blazed brightly, albeit briefly, announcing his presence to those in the real world who had the wherewithal to sense it. Several people stopped what they were doing and tilted their heads as if listening to a distant sound.<p>

Kurosaki Ishin was one such person. Urahara Kisuke was another. A telephone rang no more than once before it was picked up.

It wasn't like Ichigo hadn't left before without a word to his family. It wasn't like Ishin wasn't a little bit worried that his only son, the son of his beloved late wife, had disappeared. He wasn't entirely sure if he had left again on some quest or another. But he was a Kurosaki and he could take care of himself far better than most. Ishin had faith in his son. The only time he had ever stepped in to protect him was when his friends weren't around and he'd gone up against a most formidable opponent, Aizen. When Ichigo _needed_ protecting, Ishin had been there.

Urahara understood this too. He was concerned though about Ichigo's state of mind when he had telegraphed his return. But there was something else that caught both of their attention. His reiatsu had changed. There was power there. More than he'd been known to have before he'd vanished. It seemed he was fighting again. And winning. But he did apparently want to come home it seemed. And something had stopped him. A second reiatsu had leaked out before the garganta had closed, and it reeked of Espada level arrancar. And so a rescue effort was to be implemented and Urahara was to open his own portal to Hueco Mundo as soon as he was able.

There was of course one small hitch. Urahara's ability to open a garganta was currently non existent. Urahara needed parts from Soul Society, things he couldn't obtain here, to fix his ailing invention. He knew of one petite female Shinigami who would be able and willing to help without question, and keep his requirements on the down low.

But the rescue-e was Kurosaki Ichigo, and an Espada had been sighted, and the news spread fast through Serieti.

* * *

><p>It was a major blow to the teen's fractured and fragile psyche and he was near hysterical in his outrage, never feeling so trapped and helpless to do anything about it, so ineffective... because he hadn't had the guts to do what he should have done to end it.<p>

Ichigo yelled at the empty space, the sound reverberating off the walls around him. It had been Aizen's, an open air courtyard, lavish compared to the rest of the place, large and filled with human things. The potted bonsai trees along the perimeter had all died, left without care for so long. The centrepiece, a fountain no taller than Ichigo, had long since dried up. But if you didn't know you were standing in Hueco Mundo, you would swear you were in the human world. Even the sky above looked real. Ichigo had discovered the place shortly after their first sparring session. He hadn't told Grimmjow about it. And Grimmjow hadn't needed to ask. He knew where Kurosaki had been going during much of his free time; the one place that would feel like home.

The top of a nearby tower allowed Grimmjow a perfect view of the courtyard. What the hell was the kid so pissed off about? Kurosaki wanted home, but that was not going to happen, so Grimmjow gave him the closest thing he could. In his opinion, humans were ridiculous, and Kurosaki lived up to it in every way.

Perched silently, arms resting across the top of bent knees, Grimmjow watched with amused interest as Ichigo stalked around the courtyard, looking everything like a petulant child, kicking at stones and slashing at air with his silly little oversized zanpakuto, and muttering to himself in unfettered rage. Several key words and phrases floated up to Grimmjow's keen ears. "Bastard. Asshole. Condescending prick. King eh? Well la tee da. King _this_ you dick!"

Ichigo raged in impotent anger, swinging wildly at random, imaginary opponents (probably all Grimmjow) bisected and falling left and right. Temper tantrum in full swing, Ichigo roared and let fly with a white Getsuga Tensho and in an instant the far wall of the courtyard was demolished.

Defeated and mentally spent, Ichigo unceremoniously flopped down cross legged in the dirt with a grunt and slumped forward, letting Zangetsu drop to the side. He pressed both knuckles into his cheekbones and glared daggers at the ground in front of him as if it had personally offended him.

Well, this was a new side of Kurosaki, and Grimmjow was enjoying the show. He'd only really paid attention to Kurosaki in battle, full of piss and irritating bravado. He may not know it, but he was funny as shit sometimes. And the way he was ranting right now, his stubbornness, his blatant disregard for authority, it all somehow reminded him a little of himself.

Grimmjow brushed away a stray piece of hair that had fallen into his eyes as he stared down from the tower. He was mad as hell at the boy for thinking he could escape, but oddly not mad in the way that made him want to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze until something snapped inside. No. He'd been content to simply retrieve him. Didn't mean he liked him though, he assured himself.

Grimmjow didn't like anybody. He'd hated every one of the Espada, the easy going Stark included. Even if they didn't give him a reason to, he found one. He couldn't say honestly that he'd even liked his own fraccion. They had once been just a rag tag group of adjuchas that needed a leader. So he lead. And protected them. And when they'd given up and he'd devoured pieces of their pathetic souls, he'd had not one ounce of regret. Grimmjow didn't like anybody. Kurosaki Ichigo though, now there was a kid with real guts...

Grimmjow's foot slipped on the smooth surface of the tower and he almost lost his balance entirely as realization hit him with all the force of a point blank cero. It seemed he was developing some sort of odd affection for this human, this strawberry haired Shinigami. He was beginning to find Kurosaki tolerable, his presence acceptable, and for brief moments even enjoyable. The arrogant and mouthy nature of the boy, the thing that had always pissed Grimmjow off the most, was now the very thing he found almost... endearing? Was that the right word for this feeling? Yes. And the thought of coming up against all that power again, the immense power that he knew Kurosaki was capable of, was intoxicating.

He shook his head sharply. This unfamiliar feeling that fuzzed his brain was unsettling and not at all acceptable. He felt caught by it. Trapped. These were all just more ridiculous thoughts. He needed a drink.


	12. This insane idea brought to you by

**Chapter Twelve: This insane idea brought to you by...**

It was dark out there, faux sun replaced with an equally unbelievable moon, one that never seemed to move or change. How the hell was that possible?

He huffed and let himself slam backwards against the large rock, the sharp pain a form of self torture and a small piece of what he deserved for failing so completely to escape this prison. He'd been so close. He brought one knee up to his chest. Shit, he could still smell the air on his clothes, that bit of home that clung to the threads of his hakama.

Well, whatever. He'd missed his shot and he wasn't going to get another one unless he killed Grimmjow, and after several weeks of one sided beatings, and at best several recent stalemates, (he'd only really gotten off that one good shot after all), that just seemed unlikely for now.

He drove Zangetsu sideways into the sand. _Goddammitalltohell._ He'd had two things going for him and he'd screwed them both up. The minute he was well enough, Grimmjow was going to come after him with a vengeance. He was going to release his resurrection and Ichigo really was going to have to fight for his life.

The other nagging problem was, he really didn't _want_ to have to kill the former Espada. In fact, more and more, he'd found himself actually seeking out Grimmjow on purpose. Ichigo couldn't figure out why. It sure as hell wasn't for the _pleasure_ of his company.

But he had to admit that lately, when he did find him, the Sexta's insults and their inevitable arguments had actually turned into brief conversations that didn't end in either one drawing a sword. He glared at his surroundings for a long while, as he considered the implications of this revelation, and then brushed it aside as irritation bubbled up inside him.

He shifted his hips, trying remove the sand that was rubbing his skin in a sensitive place. The sand here had a habit of regularly finding its way inside the material of his hakama that had currently wedged its way into his ass. More often than not, when he had exhausted all his options and had absolutely nothing to do, sand extraction had become an all consuming endeavour.

And he had squat to do right now. How did anyone deal with the mind numbing boredom of this desert waste land? Without the war, Hueco Mundo was nothing but a stupid, empty, grit chafing your nuts raw inside your fucking underwear, sand trap. It never even rained here. How does a place _not_ have weather? No wonder Mr. Personality was so fucked up. Hueco Mundo didn't make any logical sense. And neither did Grimmjow. This place was perfect for him. Grimmjow could stay in Hueco Mundo and use it as his own giant fucking litter box, and he could shit in it till the end of time for all Ichigo cared. Just let Ichigo the fuck out first.

He closed his eyes and tried to shut his mind down. He was far too wound to sleep, but maybe if he could just calm down and meditate for awhile, centre himself….

He missed the rain.

The crunch of sand underfoot broke the moment and a half naked body suddenly filled the space against the rock beside him, the Sexta's bare shoulder coming into contact with his own. Ichigo shifted away, so annoyed by the interruption that he didn't even register the fleeting sensation of heat where their skin had touched. There was a twisting splitting sound of a cap being unsealed, and Ichigo turned despite himself and watched as the arrancar held out a full bottle of sake.

"Drink." It was a command.

"I don't drink." Ichigo looked affronted.

"Don't be retarded."

"Screw you."

"Woman."

"Fuck you."

"Have a fucking drink then Kurosaki. It won't fucking kill you."

"No. But you might."

"Damn right, I will."

There was hardly enough heat in the words to make Ichigo feel threatened and he dropped his head hard onto his knees. Grimmjow was obviously drunk, again. Oh, to hell with it. He couldn't stand to listen to the Sexta's abuse right now. Maybe a drink _was_ what he needed.

"Fine. Just shut up and give me the damn bottle."

"Heh."

He took a small sip, and grimaced. The arrancar raised an offensive blue eyebrow, silently questioning Ichigo's manhood with it. Ichigo glared back, and realizing the futility of arguing over such a minor thing, finally sighed in defeat.

Ichigo had never been bothered with alcohol. People seemed to use it to let loose or relieve stress, but he'd had a few drinks once or twice on special occasions and had found that he wasn't a fan of being anything less than in full control. He had experienced enough of that with his Hollow. Besides, as a Shinigami, he had much more satisfying ways to relieve his stress. Alcohol just didn't seem necessary… until now.

Feeling the blue eyes locked onto him, Ichigo tilted the bottle up and took a large swig, tears immediately springing to his eyes as the potent liquid burned its way down his esophagus and eventually settled his stomach. He hadn't eaten in awhile and the effect was almost instant. Warmth spread through him, and he sighed and eased back against the smooth surface of the rock they shared. He extended his arm without looking and felt the weighty bottle leave his hand. Grimmjow took a much larger drink, gulping down several mouthfuls in quick succession, unfazed by Ichigo's saliva that was still on the rim.

Several more helpings and a short time later, and Ichigo was decidedly more talkative, hand comfortably wrapped around the long glass neck. The conversation, yes there had actually been one, had been running smoothly, _for them_, for the past half hour, and before Ichigo realized what he was saying, he had blurted out the most insane idea he'd ever had in his short life. And he'd had quite a few.

"So leave."

"Uh?" Grimmjow glanced sideways, his brow furrowed into an irritated question.

"You can leave here whenever you want right?" He hi-cupped and covered his mouth with the back of his hand in a delayed attempt to cover the embarrassing sound. "Nobody's making you stay." It was true. Grimmjow could come and go as he pleased. He was free after all.

"You have a location in mind, Kurosaki?" The question was part mocking, as Grimmjow thought he already saw the only possible answer coming. But he wanted to hear Ichigo say it anyway.

"Well.. uh… you could try the real world." His suggestion was met with silence and a bored expression. "No really. We could probably get you a gigai from Urahara-san. It'll control your power and hide you from the Soul Society." Ichigo ramped up as he began to get caught up in the logistics of such a venture. "We'd have to find you a place to live. And I could help you fit in... you know… show you how humans live."

"I hate humans."

It was a bucket of cold water on Ichigo's idea. There was a thoughtful pause before Grimmjow continued.

"I kill people."

True. Or was it, Ichigo wondered? Sure he'd certainly _tried_ to kill people, but things had never really worked out in the Espada's favour.

Grimmjow hadn't been in the real world more than a few times under Aizen's rule, and he'd only encountered Ichigo, Rukia, and to his own downfall, Shinji. And they had all survived. And then there was the matter of him being a soul eater. Grimmjow literally _was_ hundreds of souls, an amalgamation of all the Hollows he'd merged with to become a menos and of those he'd consumed.

_He_ was just the bastard in charge. And _if_ Grimmjow had ever devoured a pure human soul, it must have been eons before now, in his original empty Hollow form. And that didn't really count to Ichigo. Only the Grimmjow of today really mattered.

"You do realize that you never actually killed anybody, right?"

It was an innocent question, but if looks could kill, Ichigo would have gone up in smoke. Grimmjow snatched the bottle back and took a long pull of sake before thrusting the bottle at Ichigo and fixing him with a withering look.

"I killed the former number six," he said flatly.

Ichigo cleared his throat. Oh. "Another arrancar?" Still didn't count.

"And Nnoitra."

"Uh, Nnoitra? Wait, you didn't kill him. Kenpachi did."

"No, I didn't kill him. I ate him."

Ichigo blanched and his mouth opened and closed several times before he decided to blatantly ignore that disgusting piece of information. He turned and studied the Espada thoughtfully for a moment as it quickly dawned on him what that meant.

"Is... is that how you survived?"

"It helped. But it was Nel who healed me enough so I could to get to the bastard."

"Nel?" Ichigo was stunned. "Nel?" His sweet little Neliell had healed the Espada. She had been the cause of all this? Masaka. She was terrified of Grimmjow and yet she had saved him. Well of course she did. She had a good heart and Grimmjow was one of her own kind.

Wait. That meant... Ichigo swallowed a laugh and had to bite his cheek to keep it there.

"Nel healed your injuries? ...Huh." Ichigo let the thought dangle unfinished for a moment, until he noticed the sudden absence of the Espada's breathing, and from the corner of his eye, caught the pallor that had leeched into his face. Then he continued.

"Soooo..."

"Kurosaki."

"... you mean..."

"I'm warning you."

"... that she threw..."

"_Don't..._ even... say it." Grimmjow ground the words out between clenched teeth, eyes darkening against the blossoming flush on his cheeks, as he thrust the point of Pantera into Ichigo's face from out of absolutely nowhere.

Ichigo raised both his hands palms out in a gesture of peace and plastered an innocent expression across his face. He decided that it would be wise to switch back to the previous subject before he ruffled the Sexta further.

"So you killed a few... _people_." He waved a hand above his head as the sword was withdrawn and released. "You can change. You know, reform. You can kick the habit if you try."

"I'm an arrancar Kurosaki, not an alcoholic." There was a brief pause as Ichigo smiled internally at the deadpan retort. It was nothing new to Ichigo, though. If anyone paid attention, they would realize that Grimmjow had a surprisingly clever sense of humour.

"Heh. Could have fooled me." The teen looked pointedly at the nearly empty bottle in his own hand, most of it having been consumed by the thirsty Espada.

The Sexta shrugged noncommittally, a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth belaying his bored expression.

"Ya well, it takes the edge off. And I blame you anyway. You're fucking irritating."

"Me? The hell? You're the irritating one."

Ichigo's good sense had clearly taken a left turn several drinks back and he immediately, and for no good reason if he looked back on it, took gross offence to the comment, glaring harshly at the Sexta, little to no thought given to the detrimental effect it may have on their current state of amity.

"I've been drinking sake for the last month and a half just to keep myself from tearing out that smart mouth of yours." The almost smile had turned to a subtle warning snarl, which Ichigo, in his less than sober state of mind, completely failed to recognize as such.

"Me? Me? You think _I'm_ the mouthy one. Have you ever spent any time around _yourself_?"

"_You_ are the most arrogant and insolent Shinigami, human, Hollow piece of shit _I've_ ever known. And considering the people I know, that's _saying_ something!"

They were in each others faces now, Ichigo almost too angry to hold back, but still trying to keep a small space between them, while Grimmjow was not so politely self restrained. The man had little to no respect, Ichigo had realized, for other people's perceptions of personal space.

"You know what, Grimmjow?" he snapped. "You should _meet_ my Hollow! I think you'd like him! Maybe Urahara can make him materialize, and then you can fight _him_ instead! He's _nuts_ too!"

Grimmjow bristled as he continued to thrust himself inside Ichigo's obvious, socially accepted boundaries, their too-long hair and the skin of their foreheads pressing together. Not one of the beatings Grimmjow had laid down had apparently gotten through to the Shinigami. He was still every bit the impudent little shit that so easily ignited the destructive flame that smouldered even on a good day inside of the arrancar. Grimmjow was the alpha here, not this brazen little whelp.

Shit. Ichigo didn't want this to boil down into a full blown confrontation. Crap, not now. He was _really_ feeling the sake. And he knew it affected his physical abilities a damn sight more than it did Grimmjow's. He'd probably run Zangetsu through his foot, or cleave off his _own_ arm and save Grimmjow the trouble if they got into it right now.

But Grimmjow's need was palpable, his blue eyes targeted onto Ichigo's brown ones. The arrancar was always a simmering volcano, erupting out of what seemed like nowhere, unless you really knew him. Ichigo had just miss-stepped. Now the pressure was building and Grimmjow needed to vent his anger. Ichigo knew there was no talking his way out of a fight. Not with him. It was on.

* * *

><p>If it had been a boxing match, they wouldn't have made it to round two.<p>

The Sexta's reiatsu had fluctuated markedly, the feel of it changing quickly from anger to something only slightly less than. Gone was the insane cackling from a 'hell bent on eradicating the substitute Shinigami, Sexta Espada'. Maybe it was the alcohol that hadn't yet been burned off during this adrenaline fuelled skirmish, but an alarming thing was happening to Ichigo. He had noticed that they were beginning to look more like two squabbling siblings than mortal enemies of a different species.

At the height of it, the Sexta had been gleefully lobbing insults in his general direction between brutal slashes and violent punches, most of which Ichigo deflected easily. Now he fought with an almost silent and indifferent demeanour.

And then, there they were. Another stalemate. Both of them had gotten in some good shots, but in the end, they'd simply both conceded, gulping in mouthfuls of air and nodding their mutual agreement to cease hostilities, neither replacing their swords right away but both descending from their patch of sky.

They slumped back against the very same rock, side by side, sweating and panting equally hard in their shared exhaustion, the alcohol having fuelled the violence, ironically bringing it to a swift and rather abrupt finish that was oddly devoid of any real anger in the end.

The Sexta picked up the forgotten bottle that still sat upright in the sand and gave it a small shake, looking for movement from the liquid inside.

"Sake's gone," he muttered.

"Ah," Ichigo grunted in response.

Good. He didn't want any more of that shit. He spared a glance at the Sexta. A telltale sheen of sweat slicked his skin, and several fresh cuts, not deep, had already stopped bleeding. He noticed the way blood was splattered in a pattern up his cheekbone and across his temple, Ichigo's blood. And he noticed the way a few strands of his dishevelled blue hair hung limp, a few pieces plastered to his forehead. He kind of liked that JBB look (_just been brawling_) that Grimmjow was sporting. It suited him. And it gave Ichigo a small thrill to know that he had been the cause of it.

Ichigo's thought process died in his mind, and he jerked up straight, throat constricting. He stared forward and shook himself mentally. And then shook himself again. _A thrill? Seriously?_ He was having some sort of stroke. Seriously.

He risked a covert glance to his left and exhaled. Grimmjow hadn't noticed his sudden floundering or his obvious anxiety. In fact, the Espada seemed oblivious, too involved in his own grief, staring accusingly and somewhat despondently at the empty container in his hand. It was an expression that lay somewhere between all the unshed sorrow of a grief stricken widow, and the bitter betrayal of a jilted lover.

Ichigo pulled himself back to reality and it occurred to him that Grimmjow, even being half in the bag under the "calming" influences of sake, had still managed to lose it.

"I think that bottle must be defective," he offered.

Grimmjow turned his head glacially slow and just stared ominously at Ichigo for a long moment. Ichigo unconsciously leaned back as he waited for another one of Grimmjow's _love taps_ or a darkly sarcastic response. Instead he could only gape when Grimmjow suddenly broke into a grin, then threw his head back and dissolved into laughter, that same high pitched cackle he often let loose whenever he was truly pleased with something. Without warning he reached across and punched Ichigo in a good natured fashion, but still painfully hard, in the side of the arm. Ichigo choked back a cry of pain, and tried to subtly rub his arm with his other hand. _Wonderful._ That was going to leave another bruise.

It was a long moment before the Espada finally settled down. A few minutes of peaceable silence passed until the Sexta finally spoke again, his voice returning to its normally serious tone.

"Living with humans. _Che._ That's some fucked up shit right there, Kurosaki."

Ichigo kept looking ahead into the desert and nodded in agreement.

Yes it was.

And _if_ he lived, it would certainly be to regret it.


	13. Gauging reactions and an odd arrangement

**Chapter Thirteen: Gauging reactions and an odd arrangement**

Grimmjow stayed out in the desert, contemplating their conversation for a long time after Ichigo had left, but eventually he'd made his way back to their room, feeling unusually physically and emotionally worn out. From the moment the Shinigami had suggested it, Grimmjow knew the whole idea was ludicrous. But he had still sat there and thought about it, what it might be like to live there, if there had been even the remotest chance that it was possible. Which there wasn't, of course. He was a Hollow, an Arrancar, evolved and bred for fighting and killing, and fighting and killing alone. There just wasn't any more to it than that. He was who he was.

He always looked forward to the fights, the brutal contest of strength, and the inevitable win. But lately, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of looking forward to the time in between fights, the peace and quiet of sleep, the sound of Ichigo's even breathing, the stillness as their reiatsu mixed in an unstable sort of harmony.

Grimmjow strode through the open door to his living quarters and stopped there. Ichigo was kneeling on the small carpet in the middle of the room, clad only in his hakamas. He'd just finished a round of situps and was wincing and rotating his shoulder when Grimmjow walked in. Ichigo barely noticed him, eyes closed, as he worked his sore arm. He had pulled something but good earlier and the situps had only aggravated the injury.

The Espada watched this for a moment, then silently moved around Ichigo and came to his knees behind him. Without preamble he grabbed Ichigo's bare shoulders and the orange haired teen started at the unexpected contact.

"Oy!" Ichigo straightened up and twisted his body in an effort to look behind himself. Grimmjow only tightened his grip and pushed him back around.

"Sit still, idiot. It'll help."

Caught by the shoulders in an iron grip, Ichigo made a distressed sound but quickly relented as sword roughened fingers began to dig into tender flesh, kneading sore muscles. The heat from Grimmjow's broad palms sunk into his skin, soothing the ache. He wasn't particularly gentle though, and Ichigo had to lean back against the pressure to keep from being bent forward from the sheer strength of the Sexta.

Ichigo was taken by surprise when he realized that Grimmjow was gauging his reactions, learning from them. What began as rough and jerking movements from unpractised hands, soon evolved into long and deep strokes, almost torturous in their pleasure. Eventually forgetting himself, Ichigo allowed his head and shoulders to slump forward, and he let out a long, low moan, unaware of the affect it was having on the man behind him.

Despite himself, Ichigo was enjoying the massage. Grimmjow could, when he wanted to, be surprisingly gentle.

Grimmjow's hands slid along sweat slicked skin, working down the the sides of his spine, to the tender hollow of his back, hitting a sweet spot. Ichigo gasped, arching his back and bringing his head up until the back of it connected lightly with something hard yet soft, Grimmjow's forehead, blue hair cushioned against orange. The Sexta had unconsciously bowed his head as he explored Ichigo's back, releasing knotted muscles, stroking his palms across surprisingly smooth skin. Grimmjow had become entranced, breathing in his scent, lost in the _feeling_ of it all.

Ichigo all but froze. His heart began to beat double time as he abruptly and acutely became aware of the hot, moist breath hitting the back of his neck and shoulders.

"Uhm. Grimmjow?"

"Uh?" The pressure lifted from behind his head and the hands stilled.

"Y- you're right. That really helped. Thanks."

Grimmjow pulled his hands away, and a tiny part of Ichigo instantly regretted that he'd spoken. Ichigo leaned forward and stood up, trying not to bolt, and said goodnight, leaving the Espada on his knees on the floor in the middle of the room. He could feel azure eyes tracking him as he climbed into bed and lay down facing the wall, his stomach trying to tie itself into a confusion of knots.

"Che. Told ya."

The subtle creak of a wayward spring told Ichigo that the Espada had chosen to settle on the couch for the night.

* * *

><p>That god damn high and mighty Kurosaki, better than everyone else! Better than him?<p>

Never mind that the Sexta had been around a helluva lot longer than that snot nosed, pubescent little shit. But no, Kurosaki always had an answer. He was so full of himself, so fucking full of it... FUCK!.. he was so angry he couldn't think! His spiritual pressure rose so high he started shaking. Mother of God, if he didn't get far, far away from this kid right now, he was going to have spiritual stroke.

The conversation had started out alright. Ichigo still wasn't quite sure where it had gone so disastrously off the tracks. They had disagreed about something minor over breakfast, and now here they were again. Ichigo had taken a defensive stance on one side of the room, while Grimmjow glowered and bared his fangs from the other, neither quite ready to trade blows. But definitely not ready to kiss and make up.

Ichigo wondered how he often managed, with so little effort, to inspire such rage in the Espada.

Part of Grimmjow's ill humour may have stemmed from he fact that all of the bottles of sake were gone, literally every last one of them. The one they had shared on the rocks (no pun intended) had been the last one, much to Grimmjow's confusion and ire. And Grimmjow now, for all intents and purposes was already beginning to go through some sort of alcohol withdrawal. To anyone else, the Sexta would probably look just as miserable as usual, but Ichigo could see it clearly. He was in one hell of a shitty mood.

They had been eating when Ichigo had voiced the entirely opposite opinion about whatever touchy Hollow-Shinigami related subject they were on, and when Ichigo had looked up at the silence that followed, Grimmjow's white knuckled fist was already coming down on top of the food tray.

There was shit everywhere. And Grimmjow had subsequently picked up the empty trolley and thrown it into... no... actually, _through _the far wall, leaving a gaping hole above the couch.

Ichigo watched Grimmjow's temper tantrum in a disturbed and disgusted sort of awe, and then suddenly, finally, he saw through it. He recognized the anger for what it really was, a shield and an outlet for the barrage of confusion and emotions that were constantly boiling beneath the surface, ugly things that Grimmjow's dominant Hollow side had little ability to deal with. The sake had helped to mask that.

Before his brain even caught up with his body's movements Ichigo found himself standing in front of the irate arrancar, his hand resting lightly on Grimmjow's stiff shoulder. The blue haired arrancar froze, so still for a moment; it was as if time had stopped. Cold blue eyes flew to his hand, then darted back up and locked with brown. Ichigo did his best to calmly convey his understanding with his eyes, the ones the Sexta claimed he hated, and hoped for all he was worth that he wasn't about to lose that hand, and the body attached to it for that matter.

Several tense moments passed until the Sexta's shoulders dropped a fraction and the fury faded from his eyes, and Ichigo could breath again. The Espada was clearly just tired. Tired of thinking about countless days and nights, year after year, decades, fighting for power, fighting to be in control, fighting to be stronger, fighting to be free... but free to do what? After all that, he was just alone, angry, lost, and tired of just... existing.

It was in that moment that Ichigo came to a startling conclusion. He may have started out as a kidnapping victim, marked for death, but somewhere along the line he'd been pardoned. Ichigo was here now as a verbal and physical sparring partner, companionship, and a distraction. He had become the life vest you desperately reach out for when you're going under for the third time, slipping down into the horrible darkness that waits beneath the frigid waves of a vast and unforgiving ocean. Ichigo had been the only thing Grimmjow could reach. He just didn't quite know how to.

And Grimmjow... well... Hueco Mundo had raised him up, an absentee mother, her children left to suffer the chilling emptiness of a harsh land, to fend for themselves or die. She was a cold bitch. And she had successfully raised another bitter child.

"You don't have to be alone, Grimmjow. I'll be on your side, if you'll let me." He said it calmly, and hoped dearly that just his once the Sexta wouldn't take offence and see his words as pity.

That idiot probably couldn't see the truth if it jumped up and slapped him in the bony mask on his striking face. At the heart of it, underneath all the bravado and broken mask, Grimmjow was still just a man, and he had needs, even if he didn't understand what they were. This was what this was all about in the end. Grimmjow was just… lonely. He needed someone in his life who really understood him. Didn't they all.

Did Ichigo feel _sorry_ for him? Hell no. Grimmjow had put himself here, traced out his own path to this Hollow existence. And he'd done his share of damage to others along the way. Even if he had sympathy to give, Grimmjow wouldn't want it anyway. Empathy then? Yes, obviously. And understanding.

The Espada's cool blue eyes flickered briefly, then hardened as they met Ichigo's. He saw only compassion in the boy's face, and he had the fleeting urge to erase it with his fist.

"This doesn't change anything, Kurosaki. I still want to fight you. And if you ever hold back..."

Ichigo's lip twisted into a sneer and Grimmjow's pulse quickened, his blood stirring at the familiar look in Ichigo's eyes that spoke volumes about the nature of his resolve. Grimmjow could practically taste it.

"You _know_ I won't hold back, _arrancar_."

Grimmjow snorted. That was more like it. Ichigo's voice had some challenge in it. It was just like old times, a comfortable rivalry, and he could deal with that.

"So, show me this world of yours then, Kurosaki."

* * *

><p>It really was an odd arrangement that they had both come to accept.<p>

Ichigo said he needed to sleep, but actually, it was Grimmjow who, in Ichigo's wholehearted opinion, needed at least one more night to get over his mood swings. The last thing he wanted to do was show up in the living world with a cranky arrancar by his side.

Ichigo lay on his bare back in his usual spot on his side of the bed, hands crossed behind his head. Grimmjow sat cross legged on his side next to the wall. He always preferred to keep the wall at his back.

Grimmjow was insistent on talking tonight, but Ichigo didn't mind. This was a delay tactic anyway. And it gave him some more time to go over in his mind just how in the hell he was going to pull this off, or it would if Grimmjow would ever stop talking.

It seemed he still needed some convincing.

"You want me to pretend I'm human? Do you really think humans will accept a Hollow half-breed like me, even in one of your gigai? They'll be afraid of me. And they should be. I'm an animal remember, Kurosaki, a heartless fucking maniac." His lips peeled back off his teeth and he tapped the pointy fangs of his mask with a hard, sharp nail.

Hmmm. He made a good point. Or did he? Ichigo held firm, determined to believe that this might actually work.

"I don't believe in any of that shit about you not having a heart."

Ichigo didn't miss the quiet sound that drifted across the bed in the moonlight, the sound of the Espada's breath hitching. He had his full attention now. He took a deep breath and plunged into his argument, hoping he could get through it before Grimmjow could cut in.

"A Hollow mask is supposed to protect a soul's bare instincts after it loses its heart, right? Well, I think the heart is always there, and that Hollow's just hide behind their masks because it hurts to much to feel with their hearts."

Silence.

"Well most of your mask is gone. Who knows if it's just because of the power you've obtained, or if there's really something else to it. But I think, either way, if you have the strength to rip your mask off, then you have the strength to have a heart."

Still nothing.

"Even Ulquiorra felt something in the end."

The silence in the room stretched into a minute, and Ichigo imagined he could hear the gears turning inside Grimmjow's head. He didn't picture them as old, earth-colored metal with little bits of rust flaking away as they ground together, but more like smooth, clean cut steel, maybe a little warped in places, not always lining up in a perfect fit, a few teeth missing here and there, but functional and capable.

"Ulquiorra was a bitch. If he was here right now, I'd murder him. And all the rest of them fuckers too. I was brought into this existence to destroy life. And I like it that way. It's what I'm fucking good at."

_For the ever loving..._

"That's who you _were_. Not who you _are_. Leave the past in the past, Grimmjow. Try to look forward." Ichigo cringed. Zangetsu was always so much better at this kind of shit. And Ichigo wasn't really sure who he was actually trying to convince here, himself or Grimmjow.

"Che. Someone will do something and I'll cut them in half."

"You can't kill anyone."

"That's your policy, not mine."

Ichigo heaved a frustrated sighed. He was a persistent bastard.

"You may not have much say in how you feel on the inside, Grimmjow, but you _can_ decide how you act. You'll just have to learn to exercise some self control like _every... body... else_. You don't think I've never wanted to kill people before? I can think of one right now."

An audible growl was the only response from the Sexta.

"And don't take everything so damn personally." The comment was delivered with a large measure of exasperation by the orange haired Shinigami, as he rolled his eyes along with his head towards the ornery Espada.

"Che."

Ichigo's voice lowered to something more serious, joking aside. Because it needed to be said

"And keep in mind, Grimmjow, if you do ever hurt anyone you'll be tangling with me and I _will _put you down."

It was a bold statement, and the fastest way to a fight, and Ichigo tensed, ready to grab Zangetsu, well acquainted with the arrancar's hair trigger temper. With Grimmjow, if you wanted to live, you had to learn to read the fine print, but the big things like this were easy. He held his breath and waited for the inevitable explosion. Instead, he was completely surprised by the Espada's reaction, and for the briefest second Ichigo's eyes flickered wide and he froze.

"But I like tangling with you," Grimmjow replied, with his most leering and charmless smile, choosing to outwardly ignore Ichigo's threat. Ichigo wanted him to exercise self control? Well, he was exercising it now. Grimmjow was being purposely irritating, playing a little game, a small payback for Ichigo's boldness. Nothing more.

"Grimmjow," Ichigo said flatly.

"When you put me down, what will you do with me then?" The Sexta leaned towards Ichigo and tilted his head in an oddly seductive way that made Ichigo's heart quicken, but he refused to show it and give the Espada any satisfaction. He forced his expression into an impassive scowl.

"Grimmjow."

The Sexta sat back again, and in a manner Ichigo found odd and un-befitting of him, he steepled his hands under his chin in mock consideration. Then his eyes lit up, and he slapped his own thigh soundly.

"I think I'll chow down on some women and children first."

Good God, it was like talking to a child.

"Grim..."

"Che. I get it already, Kurosaki." Grimmjow flopped gracelessly onto his back and rolled his eyes dramatically. "I'll be a good little monster."

Ichigo almost said, "you're not a monster", but he was never one to spout lies and half truths. Actually, from a Shinigami and a human soul's perspective, Grimmjow really _was_ the monster under the bed.


	14. The hand that tortures

**Warning:** We have a situation here people. Rated X.

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: The hand that tortures<strong>

The Espada awoke on his back, ripped away from nightmarish images of bloodshed and reishi, from dying screams of Shinigami and Hollow alike. His dreams were always like that. Full of ephedrine and blood lust. And he liked them that way. In his dreams, he always won.

It wasn't the dream that had disturbed him from his sleep, though. He sniffed and rolled onto his side, aware of the tingle that lingered beneath his waist. A sign of the enjoyment he'd received from his mind's nighttime pursuits. He ignored it in deference to sleep, and wondered idly what had woken him before he could behead that last phantom Shinigami. He blinked as the form across the bed shifted.

Kurosaki was dreaming, thrashing about in his sleep, making rending little noises. Small whimpers and soft moans.

Irritation bubbled up quickly in the post dream Espada as he reached out to shove violently at Kurosaki in what, in as far as he was concerned, would be a polite effort to shut him up. He stopped mid reach, arm hanging motionless in the air, as a scent reached his sensitive nose. It was new. And something about it provoked him, the already battle aroused Espada. Blue eyes dilated to black as sounds and smell stirred him to move silently closer, curious suddenly, to observe the sleeping Shinigami. A rare and unusual trust had developed early on between them, an understanding that one would not turn on the other in the night as they slept. And Ichigo didn't wake.

Ichigo trusted him. His heart began to pump faster.

_I could do most anything to you._

He leaned over the sleeping man, bared his fangs and inhaled, the sweet and musky scent of sex now unmistakable.

Kurosaki was aroused. Grimmjow growled low in the base of his throat and licked his lips clear of suddenly excess saliva. He swallowed hard.

* * *

><p>Something woke Ichigo from a very erotic dream, no faces, just smooth flesh, moist lips and wet tongues. It was not quite like any other dream he'd ever had. It felt more intense, something about it almost disturbing and raw. In fact, it was downright pornographic, and it had only just gotten started. Ichigo shifted uncomfortably. It had already left him aching.<p>

Ichigo's sleep addled mind for a moment accepted the warm breath on his shoulder, pleasant dream blending into the waking world. His brain slowly filtered through the information coming from both sides of sleep, until it became clear which was dream and which was real. Grimmjow was behind him. _Oh. Great. _He must have found his way over to his side of the bed again. It happened a lot.

He would never get used to the way Grimmjow insinuated himself into his personal space, but he lay there half asleep still, tolerating the Sexta's presence, _so very close_, not interested really in making a fuss about it, _yet_. He was still much too wrapped in the warmth and blissful haze between sleep and wakefulness, the fragile peace of the half forgot situation he was in.

Grimmjow had claimed the other side of the bed almost from the start, and despite the arrancar's earlier threats, occasionally limbs would cross as one or another shifted. Grimmjow was the restless one, sometimes sprawling as if he owned the damn bed, which he did of course. It was easy, just shrugging off the behaviour. Until now.

He felt the vibration of the mattress as the other man shifted in the bed, mere inches, but enough to bring them into contact. Grimmjow lay behind him, close enough that he could feel his body heat against him in that uncomfortable way, the way that made Ichigo want to bolt and keep running till he was far away, picking up speed till he could escape the feeling, outrun the way he was getting used to it.

It wasn't the feel of the muscled chest against his back that was most alarming. It was the warm hand that unexpectedly gripped his hip lightly, and the long fingers that slipped under the material of his hakama and began brushing his skin, a gentle caress, descending down the side of his thigh.

His eyes flew open, and his breath hitched. This went far beyond uncomfortable. It was terrifying him, and he was almost too shocked to consider being angry. He swallowed hard and almost choked as he forced out the words.

"Wha-? You... fuck... stop." A broken plea, whispered and ignored.

That hand, not soft, but calloused and rough, like the man it belonged to, retraced its path back up his thigh, slowly returning to the place where it first began, then wandered up his bare side, following the lines of his muscles, until it suddenly slid forward onto his stomach. One tip of one finger began tracing the small hole, curiously delving into it, so much smaller than the one that Grimmjow had, a reminder of the undeniable difference in their origins.

Ichigo's heart sped up as the warm palm moved up, stopping at his chest, rubbing across his sensitive nipple, which was fast becoming hard. It wasn't the only thing that was hardening. He felt the heat of the blush that was seeping into his skin and suddenly spreading like a brush fire across his face, burning its way down his neck and across his chest like napalm, half surprised when the other man didn't pull his hand away from the heat of it. Strong fingers rubbed once more across the hard nipple and he let out a gasp.

He was letting this happen. He should be punching Grimmjow square in the face right now.

In the face. Right now.

The hand slid down to the other side of his chest and back up twice more before it retreated, suddenly headed towards a place that caused Ichigo for a moment to forget to breath.

But it didn't go straight there, and that same tiny, inappropriate part of him from before was disappointed again. The hand teased for a moment and slid along the soft skin of his thigh, pushing his hakama lower down onto his hips, then lingering along the crease where the thigh bent, and he felt his member twitch eagerly in response.

He gasped louder this time, unable to stifled the plaintive sound as he abruptly felt his awakening erection wrapped in that strong hand.

Wrapped in a hand that was not his own.

His mind whirled and staunchly refused to believe what was happening. At no time in his life could he ever have imagined a situation in which a man, especially... what was his name?... Grimmjow, would conceivably have his hand there.

A tongue, searing hot, rough and moist, licked at his shoulder, tasting him, then crawled along his skin towards his bare neck and back, as the hand began to move. It slid roughly along the dry surface of his semi erect member, pulling the still loose skin along with it, until it reached the bulbous tip, two fingers swirling over the small hole at the end and pulling a bead of precum back down, slicking him, squeezing hard and making the route back excruciating in its pleasure. He moaned loudly, suddenly not even able to think or care about how he sounded anymore, or about who was drawing the sounds from him.

That hand that wasn't his began to pump him slowly, sliding down to the base of his stiffening cock till it pressed against the fine apricot hairs, and pulling at his healthy length as it slid back up. There were no words exchanged, just Ichigo's ragged panting as rational thought faded and his need increased. He gripped the edge of the bed, arm muscles flexing, white knuckled, as if he were holding on with all his strength to the edge of an impossibly high cliff. How was it possible to feel this good? His own hand had _never_ felt like this.

So focused was he on the the sweet agony in his cock, that he barely noticed the heated breath that steamed up the back of his neck until it was gone. And then the Sexta's face was suddenly pressed against his cheek, the smooth side, the one without the gruesome, toothy, half mask. Ichigo turned his head towards the musky scent of hot skin, the familiar scent, as the other man's cheek pressed hard against his own. He didn't open his eyes, all his senses focused on the feel and the smell and the sound of slapping wetness and his own heavy breathing.

The side of their lips touched and he turned a little more, his mouth suddenly needing to be pressed against another. He opened his mouth wider to take in a ragged breath, and the tip of a tongue met against his own. It was all too much and he pressed his lips together, refusing the advance. The other sank down against him anyway, tasting him, pressing their mouths together roughly, the fist squeezing harder, moving faster, and as Ichigo moaned, the other man's mouth closed around his bottom lip and briefly sucked on it, a sharp fang grazing along the tender flesh, until Ichigo turned his head away, desperate to evade that mouth. It was much too personal. It made this too real. And this wasn't really happening.

It was an almost impossible task to take in such incredible sensations, as that powerful fist, the one that could crush and kill so easily, all the while kept pumping his rock hard erection, with that constant push and pull, to and fro. Ichigo's hips moved involuntarily against the motion, trying somehow to get more sweet friction out of each pump, forcing the hand to work harder against his straining cock.

He never opened his eyes as the pressure continued to build inside him, volcanic and unstoppable.

Suddenly, everything shattered and he threw his head back and screamed out wordlessly, the Sexta watching in awe as Ichigo released himself, and covered his own abdomen with jet after jet of silken white cum.

Dizzy and panting, and dazed and exhausted from the exertion, Ichigo collapsed and buried his head in his pillow. The hand stayed wrapped around his softening member until the pulsing and the twitching of his hips finally stopped, the euphoria ebbing away, leaving him boneless and spent.

The bed shuddered as the Espada suddenly rose up and vaulted over Ichigo, and quickly left the room. Ichigo heard the door snick shut behind the Espada, signalling the end of the bizarre and intimate event. He didn't even think about following. He didn't even think.

Ichigo just lay there, mind completely blown to shit.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow had to leave. He had to get out of there, away from <em>him<em>. What had he done? What had they done?

What he'd_ done_, he realized, was give himself a massive erection.

It was a problem that he needed to take care of himself. Grimmjow didn't know what he'd do if he let the kid touch _him_ like that. He might just kill him. He was sure he couldn't handle that intrusive feeling. The idea of handing over control to somebody else was unbearable, disgusting. He could never give himself over to anyone in that way, or in any way. The life he knew did not permit that kind of careless and unguarded behaviour. It was too deeply ingrained into him; give up control and you become weak; become weak and you will die.

The Sexta had no idea what had compelled him to touch Kurosaki like that. He reasoned that he had just wanted to see the Shinigami suffer... in a different way. He had wanted to cause his rival pain and watch the sweet agony of everything he was doing to him. And fuck, had he ever. It was so much more than he'd imagined it would be. It was more than he could handle.

Grimmjow walked with long, angry strides down the vast hallway, turning at the first corner he came to, and leaned with one hand against the white wall. He tugged at the strings of his hakama. They slid down his legs, landing in a heap at his feet and he kicked them away. The Espada grunted as he took his own rock hard erection firmly in his hand, and pumped himself roughly, baring his teeth, until he finally came against the wall with an angry, frustrated growl at the vision of Ichigo's scarlet face, pained, and enduring it, wanting every bit of the torture he was receiving.

Ichigo had submitted to him. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had ruled over him, dominated him. It had been a beautiful surrender. And that left him with a disgusting problem. Without a shred of doubt, he knew he wanted more.


	15. Not a Ghost's Chance In Hell

_Note: I only watch Bleach in Japanese. Grim's voice is delicious. Ichi's too, of course. So, don't ask me why I felt the need to use some Japanese words in random spots. It's my story and I just felt like it. :P_

_Urusai means: Shutup  
><em>_Taicho means: Captain_

_Thanks for the reviews so far! You guys are awesome! And if you see any weaknesses, let me know about those too, because I want to get better so that one day I can write one more story and have it be as epic as the stories written by the authors I 'Ship. Mwahaha. JB_

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><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Not a Ghost's Chance In Hell<strong>

It happened without any fanfare.

Grimmjow hadn't returned to the room until morning. When he finally strolled in looking as nonchalant and disaffected as he could muster, he'd gotten right down to business and opened a garganta. And within minutes they were on their way, neither man making eye contact nor speaking as they moved through the space between Grimmjow's world and Ichigo's world, through the emptiness that connected them.

Ichigo had woken up unusually late that morning to the sound of a blade being thrust into its sheath. Grimmjow stood stiffly in the middle of the room, facing away and arranging his clothes and sword. Ichigo had looked down at his own stomach, saw the flakes of white fluid that had dried in patches on his skin, and ground his palms hard into his eyes. Christ, how had things gotten so jacked up?

"You coming?" was all Grimmjow had said.

He kept his back to Ichigo. He couldn't turn around. If he did, then Ichigo might look at him. And he would see how utterly vulnerable he felt, how completely out of his element he was. And then he might ask him questions. And Grimmjow wouldn't have any answers. But the thought that left him most on edge, that caused his stomach to tighten, and the inside of his palm to itch with the building heat of a cero... was unbearable.

He might tell him, '_no'_. And Grimmjow didn't take '_no'_ very well.

"_You coming?"_

Ichigo swallowed hard, and felt his skin heat up as the unintended double entendre instantly stirred tactile memories. The disturbingly responsive organ, that up until now had lain so placidly between his legs, twitched, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Ah. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up... uh-... " He flushed crimson, his face hot as the sun as the words came casually tumbling out of his mouth. He wondered if Grimmjow had any idea at all what effect such a simple question was having on him. He thanked God that the Espada hadn't turned to look at him when he spoke.

"Just give me a minute," he mumbled. Ichigo rose off the bed and moved swiftly to the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He grabbed a small towel and ran it under the water, and stared at himself in the mirror as he washed himself off. His mind was spinning. Remarkably, it wasn't the cum on his stomach that was weighing on him the heaviest at the moment. Though it was momentous in its own right, what he was about to do was far bigger than last night. And much less about them.

Ichigo glared for a long minute at the selfish boy that stared back at him from inside the mirror. He was bringing a lot more people into this by allowing one of Aizen's former Espada to come to the living world. Putting them in harms way. Despite Grimmjow's assurances, the Espada was still a remarkably dangerous creature. Ichigo could handle him now but still, one wrong word from a well meaning person could spark the Sexta's lethally short temper and all hell would break loose. People could get hurt or worse...

Ichigo gripped the edges of the sink and gave his head a hard shake. Grimmjow was _not_ going to hurt anybody. He'd made a promise to the teen and he would keep it. Ichigo would see to it.

He rinsed the towel out and scrubbed it over his face, then raked a hand through his hair to tame the wild, orange spikes. He snorted at himself. He was sure there would come a time, perhaps not far off, when he would wonder how he could have even entertained something as fundamentally ridiculous as the notion of inviting the Hollow into his world to stay.

But right now, more importantly, he'd made a promise to Grimmjow, and Kurosaki Ichigo kept his promises. So what if he was an arrancar? He was evolving, growing, becoming less Hollow. He was _trying_ dammit. He at least deserved a chance.

He doubted Soul Society would see it that way. Grimmjow was a Hollow, and Soul Society's mandate was to guide pure souls and to destroy Hollows. Ichigo had always considered himself to be much more open minded than the Shinigami as a whole, who tended to form their own ideas about who was right and wrong, and act accordingly, usually to the detriment of everyone involved it seemed. Well, it didn't get much more open minded than this, or perhaps _empty-headed_ was a more suitable description. Ichigo dropped the damp towel on the edge of the sink and opened the door.

Maybe Ichigo would start a new fad.

Adopt an arrancar.

Che.

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><p>They were not at all Kuchiki Byakuya's first choice when he was ordered to take three Captains with him to the real world to 'greet' Kurosaki Ichigo and destroy the invading arrancar. But they had been the only ones available on short notice, what with the current mini crisis going on in Seireitei. There was always some sort of event happening in Soul Society that required Shinigami intervention.<p>

And so, he was stuck with the uncultured Zaraki Kenpachi, a usually half lit Kyouraku Shunsui, and the often ailing Ukitake Juushiro, though both of the latter, to their credit, seemed to be having a _good_ day. And Kurotsuchi Mayuri... well, he had insisted on tagging along, informing Byakuya that the arrancar would be an important addition to his Hollow research. Research indeed.

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><p>As it usually is in situations where things ultimately go wrong, and events get desperately out of hand, the tired old cliche was true.<p>

_It all happened so fast._

The moment the garganta had opened high up in the sky above his hometown, Ichigo had skidded through the opening with a loud whoop, balanced skateboard style on a sloppy wave of reiatsu, their awkward journey momentarily forgotten. Bathed in sunlight, he'd thrown his arms out and inhaled deeply. He was home.

Grimmjow had followed behind him with somewhat less enthusiasm, hands lost in his pockets, an expression of disbelief turning to fond irritation. Kurosaki could be such a child.

A moment passed as Ichigo scanned the city beneath him. It had been a long time since he'd spent any time this high up and it took a long moment for him to remember where his little house sat nestled amongst the urban sprawl.

"Well, we gonna stand here all day? What the hell are you doing?" Grimmjow groused. Ichigo didn't bother to look back at him.

"_Urusai_, Grimmjow. I'm trying to get my bearings."

Ichigo ignored the disparaging huff from behind as he finally realized where they were. Almost over Inoue's house. So then, home had to be... there.. and the shoten... there. Urahara's was going to be their first stop, and then, come hell or high water, Ichigo was going home.

"Ok," he said with genuine enthusiasm. "Let's go." Before entering shunpo, Ichigo turned to catch Grimmjow's eye.

It was the alarmed expression on Grimmjow's face that told Ichigo that something was terribly wrong. His sharp senses had picked up the approaching rush of power before Ichigo had even had an inkling of what was coming. The two hybrids braced, Ichigo's head swivelling so fast he thought his neck would snap. In a collective rush of static, the air around them shifted. Shapes blurred in each direction they turned, and quickly resolved into the stern faces of some of Soul Society's most powerful Shinigami.

_Hell, it was then._

The largest of them, the one with long, black, spiked hair and a scar running down over his eye, yelled out to a stunned Ichigo.

"Oy, Ichigo! Move your stupid ass outta the way so we can kill this sorry arrancar."

"What? No! Hold on a minute!" Ichigo threw his arms wide, one falling protectively across Grimmjow's chest. The Sexta hadn't pulled his sword yet, though his hand was firmly on the handle, knuckles turning white. He was keeping his promise.

"You're in the way, Ichigo. If you don't move, I'll just have to kill you too," the Shinigami warned, as he raised his gnarled looking sword towards Ichigo.

Ichigo wanted to talk things out like reasonable men. But most of the spirits he knew were anything but reasonable men, and talking, Ichigo had learned, wasn't the primary form of communication that Shinigami generally used. Talking would be a waste of time without some steel to back it up.

Ichigo planted his feet and reached over his shoulder for Zangetsu. He felt the new presence that appeared in a rush behind him a moment too late. He gasped and swore as he was suddenly yanked away from Grimmjow, his arm twisted viciously around behind his back, and his free arm caught before he could turn on his assailant, who was pulling him out of the centre of the impending fray.

"Kurosaki Ichigo, how nice to see you again. I should thank you for bringing me such a wonderful little... present." That voice, oily and sulphuric, slithered over Ichigo's shoulder and sent a jolt of sickening panic down into his gut.

_Shit! Mayuri?_ Ichigo struggled with renewed adrenaline. If fucking Mayuri was here, he only had bad intentions for Grimmjow.

Grimmjow spun around and hissed with bared teeth as he realized that he was suddenly alone and surrounded by Shinigami, captains all of them, judging by their spiritual pressure. He fully released his own spiritual pressure. No point in hiding it now.

Well, if they wanted a fight, he could take them. It was the scientist though, with his disturbing yellow grin and clinical eyes, hungry ones that were fixed on him, that sent the chill down his spine and sparked a fury in his Hollow heart. He'd _seen_ Yammy's remains. He was _not_ going to be picked apart by that sick fucking vulture.

The Espada braced himself for an unavoidable bloodbath. One by one, they would find out the hard way that he had taken the form of a panther for a reason. _Nature's beautiful death machine._ He would show them why he'd been made Sexta Espada. He was built for destruction, made even more powerful through his sheer force of will, and a fighter to the core.

He felt the feral grin begin to spread across his face at the familiar rush of angry excitement that was flooding his body. Azure eyes iced over and began to glow as he raised his spiritual pressure and waited to strike. He waited because he had given his word. They had to make the first move.

And they did. All of them.

The Shinigami barely spared him the briefest of formalities, just a blunt declaration of their orders to destroy the Hollow. Then, without hesitation, they attacked. Kenpachi, Kyouraku, Ukitake, Byakuya. Four captain class Shinigami against one Espada.

_The fuck?_ Grimmjow cursed and drew his sword in a desperate attempt to fend off the Shinigami assault.

Where one would attack and then withdraw, another would have already rushed in. Grimmjow couldn't even afford to spare the briefest moment to pull up the power of his resurrection and properly defend himself. Not against all four captains at once.

The assault didn't even last a minute. It wasn't even a fight.

It was an execution.

He dodged the first attack easily, and was already coiling to retaliate when a sword sliced across his bicep from behind, searing and hot. He whipped around and snapped at the empty air and then snarled at himself. He couldn't underestimate the Shinigami. They were all dirty bastards. They had no honour.

Another captain came down at him from above and Grimmjow threw his hand up to form a cero. He barely caught the motion to his side before another sword ripped through the side of his abdomen, pulling a misty spray of blood along behind it. He cursed vehemently as fire shot through him and he stumbled in the air, his hierro proving ineffective against so many powerful opponents, as another blade slashed across his ribs, arching downward and cutting him neatly down to the edge of his Hollow hole.

He cursed and spat, and hissed and clawed at his attacker as he moved out of range. But the injuries were piling up, already limiting his movements, slowing him down.

An instant later, a thousand pink petals avalanched over him, lacerating his forearms as he threw them up to protect his face. The last wave of the tiny blades finally passed, and he turned at the sound of bells, wild eyed and hissing like a cornered animal. But this Shinigami didn't strike right away. He actually gave Grimmjow the split second he needed to bring up Pantera and defend himself. He roared and locked swords with the giant, but the Shinigami only grinned and laughed as he quickly overpowered the Espada, before Grimmjow's sword was forced down, and he felt the sting of metal biting into his shoulder.

He raged at the insult and lashed out, but the sonofabitch was gone. Pantera swung through empty space, the momentum carrying the Espada around just in time to face another Shinigami, who was attacking him from behind, _like a coward._

His opponent held twin zanpakutos in his hands. The two curved scimitars flashed through the air, the slightly smaller one coming at him first. He managed to block it, but its larger partner found an easy opening. Grimmjow's azure eyes widened.

_That was one nasty motherfucking sword._

It was the same sword that had run through the Primera, its fanged in-curve known for mercilessly tearing away chunks of flesh and hard bone as it ripped through its wielder's opponents.

It was also the same sword that now impaled Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

The sword had cut a ragged path through his chest, and now the long blade stretched out far beyond the skin on his back, skewering him. He noticed vaguely as he watched the metal begin to pull back out of him, coated in black ichor and sticky bits of his insides, that somebody was screaming. And they sounded pissed.

The barbed edge of the blade hooked into Grimmjow's back as it ground through him, tearing through the thick muscle. Grimmjow was accustomed to pain. And there _was_ pain. So much pain. It was too much, even for Grimmjow. They were taking away his one chance, his hope, his existence.

As the sword dug in, Grimmjow did something he'd never done before. He threw his head back and howled in helpless agony, rage, despair, hurt, sorrow. All of it coming down on him at once. Helpless to escape the torment. Unable to defeat his executioners. Powerless to hold on to the only thing he wanted. The only thing he wanted, his undoing.

Through watery tears, he could see the man in the pink kimono staring back at him, without anger, but without remorse either. Grimmjow gasped as the blade, the only thing really holding him up, finally let him go, and he began to plummet towards the ground. Empty eyes followed him as he descended.

Funny, he thought, Ichigo at least would have reached out and grabbed him before he fell.

* * *

><p>Kurosaki Ichigo had lost it. He'd finally thrown Mayuri off and backhanded him hard across the face, sending him sprawling through the air as he pulled on his Hollow mask and screamed in outrage, before launching himself at the other captains.<p>

Grimmjow had hit the ground hard, never even tried to slow himself down, but Ichigo couldn't focus on him right now. The captains were obviously not satisfied yet and they'd begun to descend after the downed Espada. Ichigo shunpoed beneath them, yelling at them to stop as he intercepted the first of their attacks, pushing them each back one by one, before reacting to the next Shinigami intent on carrying out their orders**.**

Ichigo began to realize with horror that his tactic wasn't getting him anywhere. He couldn't keep them all off of Grimmjow. He shunpoed wildly back and forth, darting in front of each Captain, blocking their attacks and striking out, becoming panicked and desperate, like a lone cheetah frantically protecting its only cub from a hungry pack of wild dogs.

Every sword he deflected, every blow he absorbed, every Shinigami he blocked, each push brought them a step closer to Grimmjow. They were fighting just above the rooftops now. Ichigo wasn't uninjured, his efforts focused on deflecting attacks aimed on the arrancar more than on himself. He'd thrown himself into harms way at the last second, after slashing Kenpachi's arm, and had used his body to divert Byakuya's thousand petals, splitting the stream into two. Now he was gasping for air and his mask had begun to crack.

Kyouraku skimmed by him, and Ichigo swore and twisted around after him, reaching out and catching the back of his pink shihakusho with his fingers, bracing his feet and slowing him. He realized what his only chance was now, and quickly turned to negotiating, making a desperate plea down to Kyouraku, and then up to Byakuya.

_"Stop! Stop! He's my friend!", he screamed the words out in frustration. "He's not a threat! I promise you! Please, Byakuya!"_

* * *

><p>Inoue Orihime was sick. The kind of sick that leaves a person huddled under the covers, cold and shivering. She had just woken up minutes ago and was surprised at how bad she felt. She had been a little off the night before, a case of the sniffles, but had woken late in the morning, feverish and dizzy. Orihime pulled the covers higher up over her shoulder. This was nothing when you had the godly power to reject and fix any injury. But it had occurred to her that her hair pins were sitting on the kitchen table where she'd forgotten them last night, and she really didn't feel like making the long trek across the cold floor to heal herself just yet.<p>

She was beginning to doze off again when a strong reiatsu jolted her awake. Her heart lurched, the familiar spiritual pressure instantly pulling her from her bed like nothing else could have. Kurosaki-kun was back. And he was close by. Wait. He wasn't alone. There were more reiatsu appearing, Shinigami captains. There was an unmistakable feel of an arrancar as well, a strong one, a familiar one. She stumbled into the same clothes she had tossed over the hamper the night before, and ran through the kitchen, snatching up her hair pins as she passed by the table. She burst outside and ran down the walkway. She could feel the tension building, the air around her crackling as if it were alive.

If Kurosaki-kun was in trouble, she had to help him.

* * *

><p>She heard Kurosaki-kun scream. She saw someone fall.<p>

Orihime sprinted down the street towards the plume of dust and grit, ignoring the shivers that ran through her. Sick or not, if there was one chance in a million that that had been Ichigo, she would get herself there.

She didn't know if that was Ichigo or the arrancar up there fighting the Shinigami captains. And you never could tell with Kurosaki-kun what he might have gotten himself into. She spared a glance at the sky but they were too high up for her eyes to find his orange hair. And looking up made her feel dizzy.

She reached the edge of the crater and tried to focus harder on Ichigo, but she still couldn't tell where the captains and arrancar ended, and Ichigo began in the confusing melee of powerful spiritual pressures, the force of it all now pushing down on her.

The debris had already begun to settle when the sound of coughing reached her. Orihime bolted forward in a panic, still unsure if it was Ichigo or not, and not even thinking to call out his name. A supine figure came into view as she rounded a large sheet of pavement that jutted up just in front of the space where the body had smashed explosively into the ground. She almost stumbled to a stop on top of him, and gasped, her arm coming up between her large breasts as she realized that it was most definitely _not_ Kurosaki Ichigo in front of her.


	16. A Heart To Hold Onto

Well, hey there... what a beautiful night... the kind of night that... wait... what?... Oh... You want me to shut up so you can read this next chapter? Well, alright then.

I humbly present this chapter to you... *dodges behind thick wall of bullet proof glass*.. and I suggest to anyone with a faint heart, who feels they cannot handle pain... to remember that life is unfair, and you must face it, so keep reading... *waves happily*

And a special thank you to Black Storm Van Pendragon who created a freaking awesome piece of art for a scene from Chapter 6, entitled "Morning Honey". It's on Deviantart. And she nailed it. *grin*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen – A Heart To Hold Onto<strong>

His eyes were ground shut as he slowly flipped himself onto his front, one arm outstretched, bracing to push himself up from the ground. He was shaking violently with the effort.

"Ksa! Ksa.. ksa.. ksa!"

Orihime blanched. There was blood everywhere. It was black. But it was definitely blood. It covered the ground beneath the Espada and thoroughly soaked the top of his once white uniform. He'd been stabbed through the chest, and the gory wound gushed and gurgled along with his ragged breathing, leaking out a steady stream of blood and... other things. This was much worse than the wound Kurosaki-kun had inflicted on him months ago. How the Espada was even moving like this was beyond Orihime's comprehension.

Grimmjow didn't open his eyes until he had completely flipped himself back over and managed to half sit up, trembling and cursing, every move excruciating. Blazing cerulean eyes locked onto the figures in the sky. He snarled fiercely at them, hissing. He didn't even notice her.

"Stop! Stop! He's my friend!" Ichigo screamed the words out in frustration. "He's not a threat! I promise you! Please, Byakuya!"

"Like hell I'm not! I'm gonna kill every last one of you motherfucking Shinigami!" Grimmjow was spitting flecks of blood and saliva as he yelled hoarsely up into the sky. He was so _utterly_ pissed off.

Ichigo's head snapped around to look down at the bloodied Espada, as he clutched at the flowers of Shunsui's pink kimono.

"_Urusai_, Grimmjow! You're _not_ helping!"

Blue eyes turned to the side in a weak show of defiance. But the request had come from Ichigo, so he obeyed.

"Che."

The Shinigami seemed to hesitate for a moment at the odd back and forth that was going on between the two hybrids. Mayuri grinned patiently. Byakuya frowned. Shunsui and Juushiro glanced at one another.

Kenpachi only laughed, and yelled down at the injured Espada, trying to provoke him further, his trademark toothy sneer stretching across one side of his scarred face. He wanted a few more rounds out of him yet. That Fifth had been quite entertaining. So, the Sexta Espada had to be at least good for _something_.

"Strong words from a man in your current position, don't you think?" Kenpachi jeered. "Oh, sorry. Did I say man? I meant arrancar scum."

His remark was met with a venomous glare and stony silence from Grimmjow. He'd love to tear the bastard's head off but his energy was draining away, leaving behind an encroaching weariness. With no real warning, his arms gave out, and he collapsed onto his back against the hard rubble, wincing and gasping as loose gravel ground its way into the gaping wound in his back.

The Espada took several fast and shallow breaths and forced himself to ignore the pain as he had always done, placing his hand over the hole in his chest as if trying to hold himself together. It felt wet. He raised his hand. It was shaking, and thick black liquid was dripping down his wrist from his palm, coating his arm. Was that all his blood? He was pretty sure he needed that. Didn't he?

It actually didn't hurt as much now as it should have, he realized, and the people in the sky... they seemed to be floating further away, blurring at the edges. He shook his head to clear it. No way was he done yet.

Wait. Ichigo. He was fighting all of the captains. The fucking nut. Kurosaki was fighting _for_ him. In no way was that acceptable. He had to reach his fucking sword… had… to... reach.

He finally felt something familiar under his fingers and grasped it with relief, but growled in frustration when he found he couldn't call up the strength to even lift it. Was it even in his hand anymore? He was mildly alarmed. The ends of his limbs were slowly going numb and he couldn't feel Pantera at all.

A fit of coughing drew his attention back to earth and the rubble that he lay in. Orihime Inoue was kneeling beside him, her hands outstretched. She had handed him his sword. When had she showed up? And was the bitch stupid? How could she dare to even come near him, he wondered. And wouldn't Ichigo be furious if anything happened to her?

"Oy. Woman," he rasped. Grimmjow was going to tell her to get lost. She was in danger here. Instead he coughed, and a swell of black ichor bubbled up, spilling over his lips and cascading down both sides of his chin.

"Grimmjow-Kun, please be still," she pleaded gently.

There was an odd flash of soft yellow light, and Grimmjow looked up at her silently, enduring another painful cough, as her image began to blur and fade. She looked white. She seemed to be wavering, making him feel dizzy, leaning back and forth, falling. Or maybe it was just him. He didn't know. Waves of fatigue were beginning to blanket him, insistent in their caresses, their momentum pulling him down and away from the pain, and he suddenly felt the faint stirrings of panic.

Grimmjow had never been afraid to die. He had never let himself _feel_ that fear. His focus was always on the fight. He was a king and he didn't lose. And you couldn't be afraid of what you didn't acknowledge.

He had never been afraid. But not being afraid of dying was not the same as not wanting to die. And there were things to live for now. Ichigo had helped him to realize that. And Ichigo was going to show him all the...

His world slid a little more to the left and back, and he fought to keep awake, struggling as each breath became more difficult, the air somehow feeling thicker than it should. Every ounce of will he had couldn't keep his eyes from sliding shut or his head from falling limply towards the woman. It was odd. The sounds from above were fading. He couldn't see, couldn't even command his limbs to move anymore, but he was still somehow there and still aware of the motion of the blood that pulsed inside him.

He felt his heart beating fast, working hard, becoming erratic. _It really hurt. _He grimaced and let out a low growl that turned suddenly to a pained whimper. His muscles came alive and his back and neck arched back. _Fuck, it hurt._

His heart shuddered, and he waited for the next beat.

It didn't come.

**. . . . .**

When the heart stops it takes four seconds to lose consciousness.

Four: ...decades whipped by as Grimmjow's whole primitive existence as an adjuchas class menos blew through his mind...

Three: ...his new body coursed with strength, the intoxicating power he'd felt after he'd gained his place amongst the Espada ...

Two: ...his first satisfying clash with the Shinigami, their second bloody encounter when he'd had him cold, their third epic battle and his burning desire to beat him... the months long night they'd spent together... their fights... their blood... their talks.. his voice.. his hair.. his smell, his heat, his strength... his surrender.

Grimmjow dragged in a heavy breath. It was a pointless exercise. Reflexive. He knew the moment was here. He wrapped his soul tightly around the image of the orange haired teen. Clung to it. They had taken his life from him, but they couldn't take _his hope_ away.

He would fucking take that with him.

His chest heaved one more time, and he choked in spasm as he struggled to move his lungs, clinging with all he had to what was his.

Pantera's blue hilt slipped quietly out of cool, slack fingers. She rolled once and hit the ground with a soft ping.

He exhaled.

_Ichigo_

* * *

><p>Byakuya watched the scene with impassive eyes until Ichigo began begging in earnest for them to stop.<p>

It was difficult to ignore his pleas and not be moved by the force of Kurosaki's conviction. Seireitei still had a huge debt to repay to the substitute Shinigami. But Byakuya had more personal reasons to listen to the boy, a fundamental approach to life that Kurosaki himself had once reminded him about. And that was to trust your instinct to do what was right, instead of blindly following orders.

Considering this, as far as Kuchiki Byakuya was concerned, they had carried out their orders. The Sexta had fallen, mortally wounded. Anyone could see that he was done. And if he lived, which was highly unlikely, the Shinigami attack would at the very least serve as a powerful warning to the Sexta that even the slightest offences would not be tolerated while he remained in the living world. That would not be the case, though. The arrancar's spiritual pressure was rapidly disappearing.

Byakuya signalled the other Captains to stand down. They were done here.

"Enough, Kurosaki Ichigo."

* * *

><p>"Captains, disengage. We are done here."<p>

Ichigo froze, his hand stilled wrapped, and suddenly forgotten, in the pink material. His mask was gone, and though it should have taken all of the teen's effort to restrain Kyouraku, the pull had ceased. At Byakuya's level words, the other captains had immediately stopped attacking, their perplexed and startled faces turning up to their commanding captain. Except for one.

Mayuri was the only Shinigami who dared to move. The scientist chuckled and grinned as he began to descend casually from the sky, his eyes locked onto Ichigo's. But his destination lay beyond the horrified teen, and the disturbing smile expanded to fill his macabre face as he moved closer. He would happily snatch the Espada right out from under him.

"You're in the way, Kurosaki," Mayuri warned, though he was still some distance away. "I'd like to retrieve my samples from the Espada before he goes to waste." His grim broadened impossibly wide. "The fresher the better."

Ichigo's expression sharpened into near rage, the intent to kill written clearly in his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing Kurotsuchi-taicho." Byakuya shunpoed in front of him.

"Hmm? Why collecting my Espada of course."

"I am in charge of this mission, and I said we are done here."

"Get out of my way, Kuchiki," he spat.

"Or what, Mayuri?" he replied cooly.

"Or I will tell Genryusai Yamamoto that you defied his orders and didn't finish off the Espada." He waved his abnormally long nail in front of Byakuya's face.

"You do that," Byakuya said simply. Then his eyes flashed like steel and his voice lowered in warning. "And I will inform the council that you knew about the arrancar's previous visit to Karakura, and about Kurosaki Ichigo's subsequent disappearance, and that you _purposely_ hid that knowledge from Soul Society. Considering the implications of such an event, I believe that would be considered treason, Kurotsuchi-taicho." Byakuya said the name like it had left a bad taste in his mouth. And it had.

He studied the seething scientist's paint covered face, searching for any telltale sign of treachery. It was at best an educated guess on Byakuya's part. He had no proof.

"Tch. You have no proof."

"I do not require it," he hedged. "The suggestion alone will be enough to raise questions. The 12th division's technical research bureau has long received far more freedoms than it should. This has always been a bone of contention amongst the council. It would be rewarding for them to see the reigns put on the research bureau. Perhaps they may even choose to demote the division's taicho and appoint a new one. Is the Espada really worth the risk, Kurotsuchi-taicho?"

Mayuri's eyes narrowed in fury and he ground his teeth. But it was true. This prize was not worth the risk. And he already had prizes, various bits and pieces of Espada that had been carefully collected and preserved in meticulously labelled glass jars in his lab. In the end it _was_ worth the loss of this Espada to keep the freedom to commit the atrocities that his position so conveniently accorded him.

"Che."

Byakuya turned away at that, and gestured to the other captains as he opened a Senkaimon. He looked down over his shoulder at the anxious, young, substitute shinigami, and spoke before before stepping through.

"As far as I am concerned, we have carried out our orders." Byakuya's unhurried tenor held little warmth or emotion. But it was a voice, nevertheless, that commanded attention. "The Espada will most likely not survive. He is now yours to deal with, Kurosaki Ichigo. I trust you know what you are doing."

Ichigo gave a snort of disbelief. Byakuya was backing off for Ichigo's sake? After leaving Grimmjow half dead?

_Well thanks a fucking bunch._

He spun around and took in the silent carnage beneath him.

_Shit. _

The spiritual pressure. The one he'd come to know so well.

It was gone.

_No._


	17. Though My Heart Is In Chaos, It Beats 4U

Hello my darlings. Once again, thank you for the lovely comments. I think some of your hilarious musings are better than the story itself. ^.^ And Iove my sticky notes. I want to say thank you to the three betas who each managed to go over a few chapters of this fic before life so cruelly stole them away from me. The last chapter and the rest (oh yes, there's more) are unbeta'd, so if anything nasty glares back at you, feel free to PM me. I'd like to catch oopsies before I print out a hard copy for a keepsake.

Well, alright you ravenous pack of wolves... *opens door - throws chapter into cage - slams door* O.O *counts fingers*

**Note:** 'Yare yare' means "My goodness." or "My My."  
><strong>Note:<strong> There's one tiny element of "not quite canon" in here. My story. My rules.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: Though My Heart Is In Chaos, It Beats For You<strong>

So many times I'd planned  
>To be much more than who I am<br>And if I let you downI will follow you 'round  
>until you understand<br>. . .

That if the moon had to runaway  
>And all the stars didn't wanna play<br>Don't waste the sun on a rainy day  
>The wind will soon blow it all away<br>. . .

When the days all feel the same  
>Don't feel the cold or wind or rain<br>Everything will be okay  
>We will meet again one day<p>

Shine On - Jet

* * *

><p>Ichigo folded himself down against the base of the wall, arms that were covered in blood the color of obsidian, crossed tightly over his knees.<p>

He hadn't washed it off yet. It had only just occurred to him that he should. But he couldn't. It was too soon. It would be like washing _him_ away. Disrespecting him. Moving on.

Looking at it made him want to heave up his guts. The muscles in his jaw tightened. _Grimmjow would just hate that._ Ichigo bowed his head and shut his eyes tight. He wished that shutting his eyes would served a real purpose, take him away from this time, to a better one, a time before today.

Well, his mind could. And it did. Without his consent. It jerked him back into the middle of an incredibly mind blowing night, then flung him hard against a dessert rock where a blue mess of hair and a toothy grin greeted him with a bottle of sake.

In the heavy silence of the hallway, Ichigo lost himself in the memories, the pleasant, the harsh, and the confusing, let them swallow him up. But it provided him only a brief illusion of escape from a lousy reality. One he was helpless to change and loath to accept.

Grimmjow had been down and unresponsive for over twenty minutes.

Yourichi stood next to Ichigo, faced in the same direction, her arms also crossed, her soft face uncharacteristically serious. She had nothing to say to him right now, but she'd sure as hell had plenty before.

* * *

><p>"What are you so worked up about? He's just an arrancar," she'd argued.<p>

She'd been almost livid as she'd stalked down the hallway behind Urahara Kisuke and Kurosaki Ichigo. The young substitute Shinigami had outwardly ignored her as he'd carried the limp body of the butchered Sexta into the healing room. He was far too preoccupied to deal with any of her shit, but his reiatsu had flared dangerously at the insult.

Yourichi, however, was not going to be simply brushed aside, and refused to back off. She folded her arms and took another jab at him from the doorway.

"I doubt arrancars make good house pets."

Ichigo still had no response for his normally friendly ally as he laid Grimmjow's ruined body as carefully as he could on the floor and stood to move out of the way. He understood her reaction. It would have been his response too, all those weeks ago. And Urahara's. And anybody with a shred of common sense. And even though Urahara had lead the way, Ichigo remained unconvinced that he was actually going to put much effort into saving the Sexta.

Kisuke placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it be Ichigo. Arrancars aren't meant for this world."

Ichigo's expression had darkened with barely contained outrage as he'd turned to Urahara, his normally short temper already feeling too raw and too exposed.

"Because he's part Shinigami and part Hollow? If that's your reasoning Urahara-san, then neither am I."

* * *

><p>That Yourichi and Urahara hadn't immediately thrown Ichigo out on his ass and beheaded the arrancar then and there, when he'd touched down on the pavement in front of the Shoten and burst through the door with a mangled Hollow in one arm, and Orihime in the other, was a testament to their respect for him, and to their faith in him as a person, in his ability to make choices that weren't completely insane, most of the time.<p>

Orihime had done her best to save Grimmjow, but at a price. She'd barely managed to _form_ Souten Kishun before it had shattered and she had collapsed beside the Espada. Ichigo had reluctantly handed her off to Urahara's associate, Tessai, who had then taken her swiftly to a hospital where doctors could treat her fever with antibiotics and fluids. She was human and very sick, and they were much better prepared to take care of her there.

Ichigo felt torn. He wanted to go to her, be there if she needed anything, to thank her, to repay her. She'd whimpered a soft complaint as he'd landed, but she hadn't been aware enough to know anything outside of her own fever, and surely hadn't heard his words of gratitude as she'd been lifted off of his shoulder. He was torn. Because as much as he wanted to go to her, he knew she would be alright. And he knew Grimmjow wouldn't.

Part of Ichigo was bitter at Grimmjow for Orihime's condition, but the part of him that was mature knew, and had learned, that anything his friends chose to do was just that, their choice, and to ignore their choices was to dishonour them. And that was something Ichigo wouldn't do. Besides, it wasn't like Grimmjow would have even asked for her help. Ichigo knew him well enough to know that.

He couldn't really be angry at the Espada. At least he didn't want to.

_If _Grimmjow died, he didn't want his last thoughts of him to be further tainted with resentment or anger. He'd already travelled that road once and it had left a small hole inside of him, an empty space. He had taken the Sexta down in Hueco Mundo during the war. And as much of a total bastard as Grimmjow had been, Ichigo still despised all the hate and anger he'd felt as they battled.

Even Orihime had noticed the darkness surrounding him. But the moment he'd run the Espada through with his sword, the darkness had dissipated, and without thought, he'd grabbed Grimmjow's wrist to keep the Sexta from plunging to the ground. Instead he'd laid him down gently. And then he'd just looked at him. In that moment, he'd felt a deep sadness, a regret, not for defeating his opponent, but for killing a creature who had struggled so hard against so much for so long and wanted nothing more than a nod of respect, whether it knew it or not.

Ichigo pulled his knees tightly against his chest, as if trying to hold the pieces of himself together.

_If he died_.._.. _Fuck. He was kidding himself.

He was already dead out there in the street when Ichigo had picked him up.

After ten more minutes, the paper thin doors suddenly slid open, ripping Ichigo out from beneath his dark thoughts, and Urahara Kisuke appeared between them. Ichigo's head shot up at the sound, only to have his fleeting expression of hope replaced by a discouraged frown as he met Urahara's sombre eyes. He pulled his lean form up and away from the wall and waited, the lines of his body rigid, hands balled into tight fists at his side.

"I'm sorry, Kurosaki-san."

_Sorry._

The word scalded him.

* * *

><p>He didn't tell his legs to move. They just did. Ichigo brushed past Urahara without a word. He moved into the room and stopped beside the arrancar's body and scowled down at it.<p>

Grimmjow lay in the bed on the ground, still covered in his own blood, the pain of his last moments frozen on his features. Ichigo frowned. He'd always thought that when you died you were supposed to look relaxed and peaceful. Grimmjow looked pained. Pissed.

Come to think of it, the Espada had gone down with a scowl on his face the first time Ichigo had run him through. But then, he wasn't really dead that time now was he? Ichigo almost giggled at the coldness and stupidity of his thoughts, something dark and hysterical beginning to bubble up inside of him.

He was dead. Well that was obvious, as he was an arrancar after all. But now he was deader than dead. His existence, ended. It was a wonder to Ichigo that the Espada hadn't simply dissolved and disappeared into the atmosphere like Ulquiorra had after Ichigo had dealt the Quatra a fatal blow.

But here he was. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

Cold. And still. And utterly fucking dead.

Ichigo spun round, intent on slamming a tight fist into the wall behind him before he remembered it was paper. He reached for Zangetsu, but it lay in the hallway, discarded because it was useless. Just like Ichigo.

_Goddammit! Damn Grimmjow for just not being willing to leave things the fuck alone._

They had come so far. Grimmjow had found hope.

Ichigo had found hope for Grimmjow.

But Ichigo had been naive and everything had turned to shit.

_Shit. This was his fault._

Behind him, he was vaguely aware that Urahara was saying something. He wasn't fucking interested in anything Urahara had to say right now. Ichigo had shit to deal with here, and nothing the shopkeeper could say to Ichigo could be more important than that. Ichigo blinked hard, covering partially yellow irises, slowly forcing away the black that had begun to bleed into the corners of his eyes.

Could Urahara not - _just_ - shut the fuck up?

But wait. What if it was something about Grimmjow? A moment passed, and Ichigo turned his head slightly, reigning in his seething anger and trying to tune in to whatever the hell it was that the ex-Shinigami was talking about.

"... tried forcing a large infusion of reiryoku. His body actually did absorb a fair amount of it, rather like a dry sponge. And I used some of that energy, along with _kido,_ to close the worst of his wounds. But, Kurosaki-san... the one in his chest was enormous. Even though he absorbed some spiritual energy, I'm afraid it wasn't enough, and he didn't respond as I had hoped he would. In the end, it seems the injuries he sustained were too great, and we were just too late Kurosaki-san."

Despite the disreputable history of the patient, Urahara's eyes held a surprising amount of sympathy, all of it now directed at Ichigo.

"I am sorry, Kurosaki-san. I did everything I could."

Small condolences. And he didn't deserve them.

"Ah," was all Ichigo said, still looking down.

"Kurosaki-san," Urahara ventured, "it's been a long day and it's not even noon yet. And you're still injured." The former Shinigami brightened a little, trying to clear away some the stifling, dark cloud that hung over the three of them.

"Come, Ichigo. Yourichi. Let's make some tea and then you must get some rest, Kurosaki-san. We'll heal you up, and you can stay here with us for tonight, yes?"

When Urahara received no discernible response from the teen, he pressed. Ichigo was pale, most likely in shock. There had obviously been a relationship here that Urahara had yet to understand, but it was clear that the Espada's death was deeply upsetting to the teen. He needed to be watched.

"I'm afraid I must insist, Ichigo. I'll just go plug the kettle in. Come." Urahara made to move.

"Kettle."

"Hmmm?" Both ex-Shinigamis stopped in the hallway and turned at the quietly uttered word.

"The kettle," Ichigo repeated, to no one in particular.

Without any further warning, Ichigo bolted through the door, using his arm against Urahara as leverage, and stampeded down the corridor towards the kitchen.

"He's lost it." Yourichi stared wide eyed at the retreating Ichigo.

Urahara raised his thumb and forefinger to his temple and shook his head.

"Yare yare. Kurosaki-san really enjoys his tea."

It was the weakest of jokes but they were both just grasping for a reason for the youth's strange behaviour, the obvious one being the dead arrancar on the floor. Urahara knew Kurosaki, and he knew he wasn't the type to just "lose it." Ergo, he must be up to something. But what, he had no idea.

The distant sound of an empty glass smashing into pieces against the floor shattered the silence, causing Urahara to think that perhaps he may have been rather generous a moment ago in his opinion of Kurosaki's mental stability. An instant later, the teen came tearing back around the corner, almost wiping out on the smooth wooden floor, but for catching himself with his free hand on the kitchen door frame. Ichigo charged back towards the stunned couple. He had something bulky and white tucked up under one arm.

"My bad, Urahara-san. I'll pay for the glass and the kettle," Ichigo blurted absently, as he skidded past Urahara and through the door and threw himself to his knees to land with a thud beside Grimmjow. Two stunned faces followed his every move from the hallway.

Ichigo wrapped the cord around his knuckles, and with a hard tug, ripped the cord from the base of the kettle, and threw the abused appliance to the floor.

"Uh... my kettle?" Urahara and Yourichi stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, paralysed and bewildered by the teen's peculiar actions.

Ichigo sunk his teeth into the black rubber casing of the wire, tearing away an inch long chunk of rubber, and spat the spittle covered waste on the floor. He twisted the end frantically until the rubber gave at the centre, then pulled the dual wire casing apart into two long strips.

It was all he had left. All he really knew how to do. He couldn't stand there and do nothing. He couldn't live knowing he hadn't given it _everything he had._

Grabbing the plug end, he turned to find an outlet. He ruthlessly shoved the metal prongs into the outlet and threw himself towards the body, hovering over it with the plastic covered part of the exposed wires in each hand.

"Kurosaki-sa... _What_ are you do...?"

The sudden chilling sizzle of electricity discharging startled everyone in the room except for Ichigo. The body on the floor stiffened, back arching away from the floor as the electric currant jolted stilled muscles into motion. The arrancar's neck and head bent back and then fell limply to he side. Ichigo pulled the wires away and dropped his head sideways onto the still chest. There was nothing.

_He needed Grimmjow not to die._

"Ichigo! What the hell are you doing? Stop this!" Yourichi's tone was firm, charged by a strong current of worry, but she made no real move to intervene. Urahara too was just standing there, eyes dark but wide under the brim of his had. He was apparently in a state of shock, yet somehow he'd still managed to whip out his fan, bringing it up to cover his mouth as he often did.

Ichigo knew what he was doing, even if the others hadn't caught up yet. He wasn't ready to give up yet.

He didn't know if they watched television or studied human medical procedures. They had their own ways of fixing people. For them it was _kido_ and reiryoku. But for him it was just science. And he knew a lot more than he usually let on, having worked at his dad's clinic. It wasn't rocket science.

Hat and sandals had used_ kido_ and reiryoku to try to mend the Espada's wounds. Well, Grimmjow may be a spirit but he could still interact with the physical world. Clearly. The blue-haired Espada had always left a path of destruction wherever he went, though he'd usually used Ichigo's body to do it.

The former Shinigami may have given up, but that was never Kurosaki Ichigo's style. Give up? Since when? Ichigo was a dog with a bone, and he wasn't about to let go without a fight.

The scene on the floor of the small room was surreal and macabre. Another blistering shock, and the arrancar's body convulsed. Yet another shock, and stomachs clenched and eyes turned away with revolt.

The air was beginning to smell faintly of burnt flesh. It made Ichigo's stomach protest. Well his roiling stomach could go to hell. He leaned over and pressed his ear to the overheated skin of Grimmjow's chest, searching for a movement, a flicker of life. Seconds ticked by... countless seconds to Ichigo... and...

_He needed to not feel responsible for his death._

Ichigo suddenly recoiled, lifting his head from the Espada's body and sitting back, on his knees, anger erupting from the teen in one, long, fractious burst.

"Common you stupid shit! You don't get to drag me through all that shit and then just fucking die, you ignorant asshole! You're not leaving until I get my Goddamn fight!"

Ichigo raised his fist and slammed it down mercilessly against the arrancar's chest.

"C'mon Goddammit! You're fucking pathetic, Grimmjow!" he yelled, panic and mania edging into his voice.

The foul mouthed tirade startled both of the Shinigami who stood stock still in the doorway. They were not used to such a vulgar string of swearwords coming from the teen, whose language rarely strayed beyond the mildly offensive.

The room went silent. Nobody even breathed. Somewhere in Karakura, a pin dropped. They all heard it. Urahara and Yourichi both stood quietly, watching what Ichigo had been trying to do, understanding finally the rational behind his last ditch efforts. And they didn't need to ask what was happening now. The emotion was clear on his face.

The Espada's head lay to the side, the bone mask on his face against the floor, leaving Ichigo to stare at his smooth, angular features, at the side of him that made him look that much more human. Ichigo's hands splayed themselves across the still chest, fingers reaching out to find a single drop of warmth, seeking the fire that usually blasted from the Sexta.

Instead, he felt the cooling touch of recently dead spiritual flesh.

Instead, the Sexta's skin seemed to snatch the heat right out of Ichigo, leaving him with nothing but with an icy, empty hole.

He couldn't move. He was exhausted. Ichigo let the full weight of his head and arms rest across Grimmjow's body, and for an endless moment watched the side of his still face from that awkward angle, looking for a deep scowl, a sneer, a baring of fangs, the faintest flicker of movement beneath green lined eyelids. But there was only that unnatural stillness, so completely not Grimmjow, so completely fucking wrong.

He took a shaky breath in and whispered something only Grimmjow could have heard.

"I'm so sorry, Grimmjow."

_This was his fault._

"Forgive me."

He sighed and let his eyes close, and for a brief moment, he saw the image of his mother's face, her soft smile, her unconditional love. And he knew he couldn't handle this on his own. His mom's death had taught him a valuable lesson about dealing with emotions. He learned that you become weaker than everybody else when you try to carry your burdens alone.

But who would understand his pain? Who _was_ there, for him to share his grief with? Nobody cared for Grimmjow. He'd died without ever being loved. It was a sentimental thought that Ichigo found profoundly sad, but his mind was determined to drown him in thoughts that hurt him, cut him, forced him to feel every ounce of grief until he could finally go numb, like looking into the sun and feeling your eyes burn into blindness.

But Grimmjow _had_ been loved. It was like trying to love a prickly cactus, but Ichigo had cared, dammit. That had to count for something.

Loved. Wait. What? He cared about him. He didn't love him. Not like that. They were just friends. So why did he feel like he'd been kicked in the gut? And why was he stuck with the soul crushing feeling that he had just lost something vital to his happiness? To his very being?

It started as a cold feeling in his abdomen, stomach constricting. And his hands, they were beginning to tremble. He pulled them into fists in a vain effort to control himself. He couldn't tear himself away from the Espada's face, even as his lashes began to stick together, moisture welling in his eyes. He blinked it away hard, releasing the tears. They slid downwards, following the curves of his face across his left cheek, dropping onto the skin of the man beneath him.

_He needed Grimmjow to be alive._

He had been here before, watching an enemy be snatched away while on the precipice of understanding. For someone like Ichigo, who only wanted to save people, it was the worst sort of pain.

Grimmjow. Everything he was and wasn't.

Everything he could have been, was gone.

A thick wave of mind numbing emptiness crashed over him. Only one thing in the world could make Ichigo feel whole again. And it was lost to him. He let his eyes close, and almost desperately, his mind filled itself with the memories of their encounters, images of Grimmjow, his expressions, his movements, the sound of his silky rough voice. But the fragments that came to him left him feeling even more desolate, purposeless. What did it say about him that he actually thought fondly when he remembered the sharp sting of Grimmjow's blade? He was going insane in a matter of seconds.

He couldn't hold it in. He missed him already. The miserable bastard.

Ichigo started to shake, and an angry, hollow sound began to seethe its way up his throat, the raw emotion inside him twisting and building slowly towards a hollow, primal scream. He could feel it coming, and he welcomed it, because the sound of it would mercifully drown out his own heartbeat.

He could feel his own heart thumping rapidly in his chest. He could hear it thrumming inside his head, echoing back to him through the Espada's chest, tapping out a disturbing rhythm, an unnatural sound, like his heart had a faint, thready beat buried within it that he could only barely register, as if his heart had extra beats. As if it was beating now for the both of them. Taking up the cause.

He wished he _could_. He wished he _could_ make his heart beat for Grimmjow.

Without warning, the muscles beneath his face clenched and jerked, and the body he lay against convulsively gasped for air.

Ichigo yelped like he'd been bitten, and arms flailing, fell backwards. He landed with a thud against the wall, wide eyed and panting, one arm raised in a defensive gesture.

Hands covered in dried blood clawed at the floor as the Espada sucked in an agonizing breath, scraping, dry, raw, and pained, desperately fighting to draw air into abandoned lungs.

Almost instantly, as if yanked by an invisible thread, Ichigo scrambled back to the body, his hands flying back to the Sexta's skin. The teen's whole body relaxed minutely at the feel of the shuddering rise and fall of Grimmjow's chest. He lowered his damp forehead until it rested on Grimmjow's, and uttered quiet words of encouragement.

"Can you hear me, Grimmjow? Breath, Grimmjow. Breath. C'mon, that's it. You're gonna be okay. Just breath."

The teen pulled away and brushed back the strands of blue hair that lay limp across his forehead, and the one piece that had fallen into his eye.

"Don't try to move yet. Just open your eyes for me, Grimmjow. Can you open your eyes?"

Ichigo's heart thundered in his chest. He wanted to see those eyes again.

The Espada's blue eyes stayed closed. But he was, for a brief moment, conscious. And none too fucking happy about it.

Grimmjow swallowed thickly, Addams apple rising and falling with the contraction of the muscles of his throat. He took in a deeper, laboured breath, released a barely audible growl, and managed weakly to put form to his scrambled thoughts.

One word.

"K - k - sssss... a."

Ichigo grinned, and laughed once, a sound that was suspiciously like a sob.

One beautiful word.


	18. As Stubborn As They Come

This chapter was a lot more difficult to write that I could have imagined. Not one of my favourites. Glad it's done. On to the next one. ^.^

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen: As Stubborn As They Come<strong>

For once, Kurosaki Ichigo wished his family didn't love him quite so much.

He knew they missed him terribly, and as much as Ichigo looked forward to the warm embrace he would get from his two little sisters, he needed the quiet time more.

He desperately wanted to see his sisters again but had settled instead for a phone call. The result had been predictable, and he had stood in the hallway of the Shoten with his forehead pressed against the wall, and listened as his youngest sister cried, while his oldest chewed him out for being such a _bad_ big brother and making his little sister worry and cry. Ichigo was easily the biggest jerk in the entire world. He needed to be at home.

But he needed to be here. If he went home now, his sisters would just fuss over him, and his dad would pounce on him the minute he was through the door. Ichigo had no patience for that shit right now, not after what he'd been through.

Besides, they would all be fine without him for another day or two. Grimmjow might not.

The rest of Ichigo's phone conversation had been all too enlightening, and by the end of it he'd been banging his head against the very same wall as his father's voice boomed excitedly through the receiver. Ichigo had realized that he hadn't given a single thought to explaining his disappearance to his friends, or to his classmates and his neighbours, people who weren't _in the know_.

He had just assumed that Kon had taken his place, an idea that had left a rather sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He might return home to find he had a lot more enemies than he'd started out with, particularly women. There could even be charges.

It was not the case though. For once, Ishin had stepped in and made a decision that Ichigo applauded. Kon had been confined to their home, his activities restricted to housework and television. No calls. No guests. No contact. He was to remain invisible.

Ichigo had been grateful to his father for about five seconds. And then he'd learned the truth.

For the first two weeks, when asked about Ichigo's whereabouts, Ishin had told people that his son was sick in bed, but weeks later the questions had kept coming. Where is Ichigo? How sick is he? Is it contagious? And the rumours had started to circulate about the doctor that couldn't heal his son, and about Ichigo's imminent demise. It was all part of the fun of living in a small community.

In the past Ichigo had always been lucky. He'd had his own little personal army of people working behind the scenes to hide the truth of his sword wielding, Hollow killing, spiritual identity from the world. When Kon wasn't around, Ichigo had a bad habit of leaving his body hanging around all over the place, often in questionable positions. If innocent bystanders happened to catch site of it, and justifiably call for an ambulance, Soul Society's finest would usually step in and save Ichigo from a long series of medical tests and half spun explanations when he miraculously revived from the dead.

As usual, they had been as reliable as ever, and the Shinigami had used their memory altering devices to clean up some of the mess. There was only one small hitch. Soul Society's concern only lay in hiding the true identity of the teen and creating a plausible cover story for the damage that had been done to the town in order to conceal it's own existence. They really didn't care what excuses Ichigo had to make to explain his long absence.

And therein lay the problem. Ichigo's father was a well-respected medical practitioner, and the news of his son's disappearance had spread locally about town. So, Ishin had eventually abandoned his story and conceded that Ichigo had in fact just taken off, and that he would come back when he was ready.

Ichigo's father swore up and down that he'd had little choice but to settle for using the local reporters and police to spread the word that Ichigo had just split, an angry teenager who'd run away… a story that Ichigo found very hard to swallow.

He'd argued hotly with his father over it. It was frigging embarrassing, but it was an easy answer. He had done it before after all, worried his family, skipped out to Soul society, trained with the Visored, run off to Hueco Mundo. He was gaining a reputation, not only as a fighter, but also as a no good, runaway punk.

That damn Espada.

Ichigo had been gone for six weeks. Imprisoned, insulted, attacked... _in more ways than one._

Another chunk of his life, a normal life, time that he should have spent being a teenager, doing teenage things, had been taken away from him.

The orange-haired teen stared at the bland ceiling above him. You would think that the indignity of being kidnapped and forced into combat against his will would have landed someplace near the top of Ichigo's laundry pile of grievances. But he couldn't seem to stir up any anger about that at all. If he thought about it, it was no more than he'd been through the first time he'd entered Soul Society to rescue Rukia.

Somebody, it seemed, was always attacking him. Everybody wanted a piece of Kurosaki Ichigo.

And at least one person that he knew of seemed to want one piece of Ichigo in particular. He felt himself blush.

That again.

It kept coming up. Like a persistent, unreachable itch, it just wouldn't seem to go away. He couldn't read the Sexta's mind, and when he thought about it, he probably wouldn't want to. _Grimmjow's inner world was undoubtedly more jacked up and sideways than Ichigo's._ But it was a safe bet that the matter was far from dropped for the Espada. There really wasn't going to be any way around it, no point in skirting the issue. It needed to be dealt with eventually.

He _should_ have said something to Grimmjow before they'd left Las Noches, but he had been so far out of his element that his brain seemed to have abandoned him, and he hadn't let himself feel anything. _Embarrassment didn't count._

Well, he wasn't ready then, and he wasn't ready now.

Ichigo sighed. He had to admit to himself that Grimmjow did have an undeniable appeal... as much as one guy could safely say that kind of thing about another. He turned his head to look at the unconscious bluenet that lay a few feet away from him, quietly clinging to existence. His face softened. The Espada may be an idiot, but he was tough as nails. And even like that, cut up, bruised, and an undeniable wreck, he was still magnificent. His very presence commanded attention, and Ichigo's breath hitched at the sight of him.

Holy crap, he didn't even want to deal with that right now. Christ, he was only seventeen. Yes, he was curious and a little horny, but when he'd pictured himself meeting a girl..._ a girl..._ all those weeks ago, he'd only really imagined himself getting as far as first base, stealing a kiss, or maybe, if he felt bold enough, touching a breast through a shirt - _not_ being jumped by an arrancar and subjected to the best damn hand job of his life.

All Ichigo knew for certain was that he had never felt any particular desire to wait around and watch anyone he'd fought _heal_ before. If they went and healed up, that was up to them. Beating them was his business. Healing themselves was their own. And hearing that they were fine was fine. He didn't need all the details.

Yet, here he was. For some idiotic reason, he felt the overpowering urge to watch Grimmjow now, to guard him. Whether it was to protect Grimmjow from another unprovoked Shinigami attack or to protect everyone else from Grimmjow, he wasn't quite sure.

Not that Grim could win a fight against a three-day old kitten right now.

But the stupid fact was, on some level Ichigo was afraid to take his eyes off of him. Fear had seeded itself in his gut and sprouted a feeling that if he chanced to look away, the Sexta might up and disappear.

Ichigo had spent the last few hours trying lamely to convince himself that he was just being overprotective because he was still in the process of recovering. Yesterday's inglorious return to Karakura had brought with it one hell of a nasty turn of events, and remarkably, Ichigo had found himself feeling a little bit shell shocked by it all.

He wondered if it was his inability to save Grimmjow that had sparked an instinctive need to fiercely protect the big cat from being unjustly hunted down again.

He only knew one thing for certain. God help any being from Soul Society that was stupid enough to come after Grimmjow again. They would be crossing swords with Kurosaki Ichigo, and he couldn't promise that he wouldn't kill them. He had a disturbing little feeling that he wouldn't care if he did.

The shift in his convictions, his allegiances, weighed heavily on his mind. It felt like he had stepped across some vague and indescribable line that had formed somewhere inside him when he was young, that up until now had always acted as a reliable, moral compass. His feelings towards Grimmjow took him into territory that went beyond his usual sense of right and wrong, and it pushed the limits of what Ichigo considered to be feelings of caring for a friend. When exactly Ichigo had started to feel like this, he couldn't pinpoint.

And just when the hell had he started calling him Grim anyway?

He sighed and released his white knuckled grip on the sheets that he'd been fisting as he lay in a bed on the floor, doing some healing of his own.

Urahara had offered him a spare room, but he'd found himself demanding to stay with Grimmjow. Urahara had seen the fruitlessness of dealing with a tired, beat up, ornery Ichigo and had set up an extra bed on the floor beside the arrancar. He had suggested Ichigo use the facilities before retiring as he wouldn't be able to exit the room until morning because Urahara had decided to erect a reishi barrier around the room for the night…

"…as an extra precaution, you understand."

Yeah, he understood. Getting someone like Grimmjow, with his history of violence and general arrancar-ness, to be accepted into the world of the living had less to do with forgiveness and more to do with plain old self preservation. It's not like he thought it would be easy. He wasn't a moron after all. But he had never imagined it going as badly as it had - and so quickly - Ichigo practically walking Grimmjow to slaughter the moment they entered the real world. He'd had a million hours now to think of him and think of that.

This was _so_ his fault.

And they'd only been here a few hours. He should have known there would be all kinds of fanfare waiting for him when he returned after being missing for so long. And with an arrancar. He _really_ hadn't thought this through at all.

That's why he was lying next to Grimmjow right now. Guilt.

Yes. That was the reason he was here. And if he kept thinking about it, and he did, a growing feeling that he couldn't just explain away squirmed awkwardly beneath the surface, eclipsed by the guilt, vague but most definitely there.

Ichigo shifted his body sideways, pulling the thin mattress along beneath him as he moved, until he was only inches from Grimmjow's side. He placed his chin on the large bicep of the Espada's arm, letting his ear rest against the bulk of his pectoral muscle, right where his physical heart beat clearest. He needed this confirmation of life, such as it was.

* * *

><p>Grimmjow had struggled through the night. Every <em>breath<em> was a struggle. Each one fought for and earned.

When that dreadful moment had come, and the Espada _had_ actually stopped breathing, Ichigo had scrambled over to him with his heart in his throat all over again, and set his palm against the Sexta's cheek, patting it and pleading with him to take another breath.

"_Stay with me, Grimmjow. C'mon, dammit. Stay with me."_

He didn't dare shake him. Urahara had temporarily cast a weak holding spell over Grimmjow to keep him from thrashing about and injuring himself during the night. Although the arrancar's healing abilities were remarkable, he had not been out of the woods by any stretch of the imagination, and his hold on life was precarious at best. If he moved too much, he could die.

At Ichigo's touch, the bluenet had started to breath again, and then he had done something that caused a lump to form in Ichigo's throat. Grimmjow had leaned into the touch and mumbled something that had come out as a soft wine, as if he were pleading with Ichigo, clearly not truly conscious, but definitely aware of the contact, and responding to it. Ichigo was sure that the Espada wouldn't remember it.

"_Nnnnnn... wanna stay with you," he'd said._

* * *

><p>In the silence of the room, Grimmjow's breathing rattled through his body, sounding much too large, too deep and reverberating to Ichigo for something so human sized. Ichigo closed his eyes and felt some of the tension slip away, and after several long minutes, finally drifted into sleep.<p>

He was a powerful creature, as stubborn as they came, and he would definitely pull through.


	19. Underwhelmed

**Chapter Nineteen: Underwhelmed**

It was the pain that let him know he was alive.

His entire body was a discordant symphony of throbbing aches and sharp twinges, each one demanding his attention. It reminded him that he'd been in one hell of a fight, and had lost in the worst way.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez's hands twitched as he lay on his back, eyes shut tight, recovering from the worst hangover he'd ever had.

He didn't know _how_ he did it. But he knew _what_ he did. That Kurosaki sonofabitch had saved his ass. Again.

His lip curled up just enough to expose a white fang. He didn't want to think about it. It made him feel weak. And that in turn made him feel angry. And wasn't that just the bitch of things? Everything in his life always came back around to that feeling. It was exhausting, and right now he was too tired and sore to care about much of anything. He would deal with that, and Kurosaki, later.

When the Espada finally came around enough to open his eyes, he was alone in a bed on the floor. To his right, a wall. To his left, another bed, empty, covers tossed aside. He reached over and placed his hand on the sheets. Still warm. He didn't need to feel the reiatsu that was left behind, the one that curled around the room, twining with his own. He inhaled deeply... could _smell_ the scent of Kurosaki still fresh on the skin of his arm, sweet and exotic.

Twin blue brows shot up. Kurosaki had stayed with him, slept against him. The thought made him feel uneasy, but at the same time it was oddly comforting. He pulled his hand away from the sheets as if he'd been burned by them, and stared at his open palm. The tempered lines of his eyes slowly softened themselves into a look of bemused amazement, a stark contrast to the hardness of his white bone-mask. A warm feeling was coiling in his depths of his gut, and Grimmjow suddenly realized how very much he had wanted to go back to him on their last night in Las Noches, how intensely he had missed being in the room with him, just lying there. He remembered that night... watching Kurosaki dream and wanting to feel his sleeping body shudder under his palm.

He wondered what the hell the young Shinigami had dreamed about to get himself so worked up. Was it anything like Grimmjow's dreams? The savage battles, as his sharp nails scored across tender flesh? The release of power, as Pantera plunged through thick muscle? The ruinous climax, as he drove his fist deep into his opponent's body?

He thought of that as he let himself be pulled back into sleep.

* * *

><p>Another day had come and gone before the Espada finally stirred again.<p>

Only a few more hours had passed since then and he was already sitting up on his bed, cross-legged, elbows resting comfortably on bent knees. He couldn't say it didn't hurt like a bitch, the strain and stretching of the wounds in his upper body, but it was such a relief to be upright again that he was willing to put up with it for a little while. Grimmjow couldn't stand being bedridden. He was still nowhere near being off his sickbed but sitting was working out well for now.

He had no idea where he was or how long he'd been out, and he knew he was pushing his luck, but he wanted to try walking around, stretch out his unused muscles. He knew he would likely suffer for his effort... but it would be in private.

He winced as he forced his shredded abdominal muscles to pull him forward, attempting to rise, when someone slid the door open and walked in. Grimmjow blinked against the light that invaded the softly lit room from the hallway, but he caught the look of surprise and barely concealed relief that washed across the young face before quickly being replaced with a more casual mask.

"You're awake."

Grimmjow grunted a response as he let himself fall back down onto his back, wounds protesting.

"It's a _privilege_ to watch your mind at work."

Ichigo sniffed, though he couldn't keep one corner of his mouth from turning up slightly. Well, the ever caustic tongue was obviously in working order. As for the rest of him...

He'd been thrashed but good. The Espada was a mess, torso almost fully wrapped in bandages that were stained dark in patches where blood had soaked through, and his spiky blue hair unkempt and matted at the back from being slept on for two days.

And his eyes. For a moment Ichigo felt a twinge of remorse, but it was quickly carved away by the steeled edge of his own discontent as he looked into those cobalt eyes, less vibrant than they usually were. Dulled from weakness and pain. The man behind blue eyes - not what he should be.

Ichigo moved into the room and stood near the edge of Grimmjow's bed, looking down at him, not too subtly leaving some space between them.

"How are you feeling?" Ichigo's arms wanted to fold themselves into a defensive knot, but he kept his hands at his sides. He didn't quite know where he should put them.

The Espada did his best to shrug indifferently without pulling at his wounds, letting his gaze fall away from the teen and frowning instead at the wall, past the foot of his bed, beyond the soiled plains of once white bandages and the wreckage they concealed.

"I could take a day off."

Ichigo grimaced. He felt a bit foolish for expecting any sort of enthusiasm from the bedridden Espada, and more than a little let down. So far, their reunion was remarkably underwhelming. Something bright and angry flashed inside the teen, and it made Ichigo just want to haul the Espada up off the ground and take a round out of him.

Grimmjow glanced at the floor to either side of himself, his furrowed eyes searching for something and quickly filling with irritation.

"Where's Pantera?"

"I took it."

The memory of that simple conversation, so many nights ago in Hueco Mundo, came rushing back to both of them. Grimmjow remembered almost verbatim every conversation the two hybrids had ever had.

"You've got nothing to worry about, Grimmjow," Ichigo said, a small, telling twist at the corner of his mouth belaying the kindness of his words.

_You aren't worth killing as you are now._

"You fucker." The inhuman growl that crawled out from Grimmjow's throat instantly let Ichigo know that taunting the Espada probably wasn't the brightest idea. He wanted to talk to him after all, and riling him up would just end up with Ichigo being subjected to a slew of profanities and possibly attacked by the Espada, despite the shape he was in.

He didn't really want to pick a fight, but the words had slipped out of Ichigo's mouth without him even realizing fully why he had chosen them. Perhaps just knowing they'd be an irritation was the reason, and maybe he wanted to take a shot at him to relieve his own stress. Maybe Ichigo had been through hell and he needed an outlet. Did Grimmjow even_ think_ about him?

He was annoyed with Grimmjow, for so profoundly scaring the shit out of him, for not fighting harder to live, for just fucking giving up like that. Ichigo should never have had to _drag_ the Espada back like that.

"Do you know what you put me through, Grimmjow?" he demanded hotly.

Grimmjow's expression sharpened as his nose twisted out of joint in an almost visible way.

"What are you so fucking upset about?" he snapped. "You got your powers back. You should be fucking _thanking_ me."

"Thanking-? Wha-? No. Not that, you... For the love...", Ichigo sputtered in exasperation. Talk about thickheaded. Where they even having the same frigging conversation?

"I'm talking about what happened _here_, you giant asshole," he yelled.

Grimmjow looked a little confused for a second. Then he caught up with Ichigo.

"What? You were worrying and getting bent out of shape just 'cause I got stabbed a few times? Che. You're hilarious, Kurosaki. Don't be so retarded."

Ichigo took a step forward, hovering over the prone man, glaring down at him while biting back his anger, feeling stupid for expressing an ounce of worry over this worthless, hard headed, jack-ass. Of course Grimmjow wouldn't worry about anyone outside of himself. So why would the Espada even consider the notion worth thinking about? It was pointless in even telling him that he'd been worried.

Grimmjow pulled himself up until he sat partially upright, leaning back, propped on his elbows, the position taking most of his weight and some of the strain off of his midsection. He looked up irritably at Ichigo and snapped suddenly.

"Don't stand over me like that. You wanna talk to me, you can fucking do it down here," he barked, indicating towards the floor with his eyes.

His voice was rough and raw from lack of use, but there was some strength there still. A good sign. Ichigo faltered where he stood. And then his anger dissipated like thick smoke on a windy day, the embers still lit, but the air a little easier to breath. Grimmjow was being as miserable as ever, but he had to be feeling vulnerable right now. And Ichigo was being a jerk himself.

Without a word, he knelt down on the mattress beside the blue-haired Espada so they could talk face to face, as equals. At Ichigo's peaceful gesture, Grimmjow's temper slowly evaporated, and he settled back down into a more comfortable position.

"Where are we?" he grumbled.

"Urahara's place."

"He a Shinigami?"

"He was. He defected."

"Keh. Can't say I blame him."

Ichigo snorted at the disparaging remark, though he wouldn't deny that he more than half agreed with Grimmjow.

"What happened?" Grimmjow only remembered bits and pieces, none of it good. Kurosaki would know. It was a safe bet that it was a long story, and Grimmjow wanted to hear every gory detail, especially if Kurosaki had beaten those good for nothing Shinigami. He could sit there and talk Grimmjow's ear off all day if he wanted to. It wasn't like Grimmjow was going anywhere.

The room became silent for a long moment, and Grimmjow watched curiously as something like pain flashed across the teen's brown eyes.

"You died."

Ichigo's answer was blunt and quiet, his voice flat, but Grimmjow heard the emotion buried within it as if Ichigo had yelled it at him. The words were full of accusation and anger, the bulk of it directed at him. Well, that answered Grimmjow's question not at all, but it did shed light on Kurosaki's moodiness from a minute ago. He was being a sentimental bastard again, fussing over people because he cared so goddamn much.

Grimmjow looked down at his tightly bandaged chest. He'd really died. If he was alarmed, he swallowed it. The bluenet was definitely puzzled, though. Kurosaki's woman, Orihime, had been there. If she had used her power, then why was he still wounded?

"The woman?"

"Urahara. He saved you." Ichigo was not about to take the credit. He still didn't feel worthy of it.

"Shit."

Ichigo knew at once what the expletive was about.

"You don't owe him anything Grimmjow. He did it for me."

Great, Grimmjow thought. Now he owed Ichigo. But that's not what he had been asking.

"Is the woman okay? She was sick, wasn't she?"

"Oh. Yeah, Orihime's doing okay. I just saw her at the hospital. She had to let the doctors treat her to hide her powers, but she'll be out tomorrow. She'll be fine."

Ichigo had, actually, tracked her down and climbed through the fourth story window of her room to check up on her, and to thank her for trying to help. She was a good friend.

It wasn't until after he'd answered Grimmjow's question that he realized the ramifications of it. Grimmjow was actually concerned about someone other than himself. He cared on Ichigo's behalf. This was a development.

Ichigo definitely wanted to discuss this new found interest in Ichigo's friend's well being at length, but his mind was far too bogged down in another related topic, one which was both exhilarating and uncomfortable. He might as well deal with it now, while things were relatively quiet and no one was here to disturb them. It _had_ to be on the Espada's bear trap mind. The sonofabitch never let _anything_ go. At least this way, if Ichigo initiated the conversation, he could be in control. _And rainbows and butterflies..._

"Grimmjow, what happened back there... "

"Uhh?" Grimmjow's eyes hardened as quick as switchblade, his muscles visibly tense. Was Ichigo going to send him on his way already because of all the trouble his presence in this world had brought on them? He watched Ichigo's mouth move while Grimmjow's mind all but stalled.

"That thing that happened..."

Silence.

"In Hueco Mundo..."

_Oh._

_Shit._

The gears in Grimmjow's brain shuddered into first, and he fixed Ichigo with _the look_, only the bottom half of ocean blue eyes staring out from beneath narrowed lids, the look that either meant, '_spit it out before i break your jaw_' or '_blow me_'.

By the tight expression on the Espada's face, Ichigo knew Grimmjow understood _now_ what 'thing' he was talking about. Ichigo steeled himself and pushed the words out like soldiers marching in tight formation. He had to be firm. And he had to mean it.

"It was just a one time thing, Grimmjow. It can't ever happen again."


	20. Caught Off Balance

Awww... You didn't think I would just leave you all hanging like that again did you? I will be cruel though, and make you wait for the next one. But you won't be disappointed. It's not by choice though. I would give you everything I had if I could. I love you all so much. But I'll save my gushing for the end, because it's late and I'm too tired to think any more. Junichiblue.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty: Caught Off Balance<strong>

. . . . . . . . .

"It was just a one time thing, Grimmjow. It can't ever happen again."

. . . . . . . . .

Their little world suddenly went much too quiet for Ichigo, and as the seconds ticked by he began to sweat under the Espada's penetrating gaze. His stomach tumbled over itself as he wondered what convoluted thoughts were manifesting behind those, suddenly all too perceptive, azure eyes. For once, could the Espada just let it go?

Grimmjow was slow to respond, leaving both of them stranded, neck deep in thick silence, before he finally dared to question the teen's opinion.

Because that's what it was, _an opinion_.

Kurosaki was beginning to piss him off. The little bitch... waiting till Grimmjow couldn't get away. He just had to pin him into a corner before he pissed all over him, didn't he?

"The hell do you mean?" Grimmjow ground out slowly, his hard expression giving very little away. He couldn't show what he really felt. The stirrings of pain.

"I mean .. uh... I mean... gahh. It's _weird_, okay?" he blurted. "I like girls... I mean... I don't want to do stuff like that with... you know... a... a..." He couldn't even say the word 'guy'. It was just too close to the word 'gay', not that there was anything wrong with that, but it just wasn't Ichigo, as far as he knew.

If Grimmjow's heart wasn't thumping in his chest, and an awkward lump hadn't formed in his throat, he would be enjoying watching Kurosaki slowly dig himself miles deep into a desperate pit of embarrassment.

For a moment Grimmjow remained almost poker faced, but then something shifted the pain aside, the deeply rooted urge to regain control, and his eyes narrowed critically.

"Not like I care. But what's the fucking difference?" he challenged coolly.

Ichigo blinked. He wasn't expecting the damn bluenet to come back with that kind of question. He should have known that this conversation would inevitably degenerate into another heated argument between them. He needed to outmaneuver the always persistent Espada but his throat had completely dried up and he couldn't push out a response. He twisted around looking for the glass of water he'd brought into the room the night before. Christ. He could cross swords in a life or death fight but he couldn't bring up the subject of sex, couldn't talk about sex. About them. Grimmjow filled the silence instead.

"Who cares about guys and girls? We're fucking animals, Kurosaki. All that shit's just about dominance."

And what of love? It was a Hollow's answer to an act Ichigo considered an expression of affection. Call him old school. Call him human. Ichigo pulled the glass to his lips, swallowed, and sighed, staring at the swirling motion of the water in the glass, letting it calm him.

"Not in my world, Grimmjow." He said it with a sad sort of half smile. Could Grimmjow ever truly understand an emotion like love without a heart to feel it? Did he have a heart at all? Or were Ichigo's theories just bullshit?

"Yes, in your world!" Grimmjow exploded. "You let yourself be dominated and you _liked_ it." The Espada snarled, anger and irritation, and something else, flashing across his face.

Ichigo's expression of sympathy for Grimmjow's inexperience with love and friendship vanished like a soap bubble, and he sputtered in response.

"Sh- Shutup!" He slammed the glass down on the floor at the head of his bed, rising onto his knees, and glared down at the Sexta. A show of dominance.

Grimmjow cheshire grinned up at him, unperturbed, and what's more, looking awfully pleased with himself for rattling Ichigo so easily. Not that Ichigo wasn't obviously rattling himself well enough on his own. It was a long thick moment before Ichigo settled back down and pushed on in the conversation that he really didn't want to be having. Ever.

He had learned that he had to let things go like so much rain off his back with the often playfully annoying Espada. If he didn't, they'd be forever on the verge of killing one another. Ichigo focused his thoughts. He'd already rehearsed the conversation in his head a thousand times.

"Why did you do it?"

"Why did you let me?"

"Keh. I mean why did you want to?"

"Dunno. Felt like it."

"Felt like it why?"

"Why? Why? Fuck! I don't know! Quit asking stupid questions, Kurosaki."

Ichigo wasn't always the sharpest tool in the box when it came to unearthing the motives of others, but he felt he had a good idea what was going on with the arrancar this time, and he aimed to make sure Grimmjow understood it too. Because there was no way in hell that it could have been what it had felt like to Ichigo.

"Grimmjow, have you ever had a friend before?"

The Sexta looked at Ichigo as if he was stupid, and rolled his eyes. He'd been surrounded by comrades in Hueco Mundo. Ichigo damn well knew that.

"Che. Sure. Tonnes."

"Who."

"My fraccion." As Grimmjow said the only words that really came to mind, he realized that his fraccion were the only souls over there that he didn't actually _hate_. He couldn't even say, with any degree of honesty, that he liked them.

"I mean somebody you wouldn't kill or eat if given the chance."

The blue eyes darkened as the Espada's lip curled, prompting Ichigo to shuffle on his knees and try a less insulting approach.

"I mean, somebody who you might want to protect if they were in danger. Someone you'd miss if they were gone."

"Hmph. Then no."

Ichigo sighed. So much for rehearsing. This was getting him nowhere.

"Do you still want to kill me, Grimmjow?"

"Che."

Ichigo pressed.

"Do _you_ still _want_... "

"_Damn right_. Soon as I finish healing, I'm gonna fuck you the hell up."

Ichigo smacked his hand against his forehead before throwing his hands wide apart and gesturing to the room, to the Espada, to all of it.

"This? This is what I get for saving your worthless life?" he bawled. "Well, you're fucking welcome!"

"Yeah, well who the fuck asked you to anyway?"

Ichigo almost couldn't believe it. Grimmjow was blowing shit out his ass, and they both knew it. The arrancar was a creature who based his pride on his strength and in his ability to take care of himself. Ichigo knew that he resented the idea of needing anybody's help, but was he also going to be too proud to admit that he had a friend? Stubborn bastard wasn't making this easy.

Ichigo sighed mentally and then decided to just go ahead and play his ace.

"Uhuh. So, if I get up and walk out of this room and never come back, you won't miss me."

Ichigo shifted his weight onto one knee and began to rise when he was roughly hauled back down by an iron fist that had locked in a tight grip around his wrist.

"Make your fucking point already, Kurosaki." Grimmjow wasn't meeting his eye.

Ichigo's skin lit up where they made contact. _Where was that damn glass of water again? _He took a long deep breath.

"Well... I'm saying that we're friends, and..." _Shit_. This was suddenly impossibly awkward. "...since it's new to you, it's easy to confuse friendship with, uhmm, physical attraction."

There. He fucking said it. His goddamn palms were sweating, and he was blushing, but he said it. And damn, if it didn't sound a lot more stupid coming out of his mouth now than it had in his head.

Grimmjow turned his head and fixed him with a hard stare, which to his surprise, Ichigo held.

"So you're saying I'm confused..."

"Uh..."

"...because we're friends..."

"er... "

"...and I've never had a friend before."

"Uhmm... right."

It wasn't the conversation itself that was suddenly making Ichigo very very nervous. It was the look on Grimmjow's face, and the subtle shift of his muscles, telling Ichigo that he was about to make a move of some kind. It was the "some kind" part that worried him most.

Grimmjow had just fucking _had it_.

The tension, this thing between them. It was driving him nuts. Someone was going to have to do _something_.

But why was it that it had to be Grimmjow? Ichigo was the human here. _He_ was the one who was supposed to know about 'these things'. These emotions that surfaced whenever he thought of him - the feelings both physical and mental that were so strongly linked to Ichigo that confounded him and made him want to tear his blue hair out.

He didn't understand where the hell they had even come from. He was an arrancar, supposed to have the powers of both Shinigami and Hollow, 'all of the strengths and none of the weaknesses'. But feeling was a weakness. The fact that he came here at all and then went and got himself killed proved that. It wasn't worth it, all this mushy business. But there had to be something about it that made it worthwhile or else what was the point of it all?

The silence between them lengthened and Grimmjow could _hear_ Ichigo's heart beating quickly, _see_ the blood rushing through the veins just underneath his skin. Well fuck.

Kurosaki Ichigo was patently useless. That much was clear.

And Grimmjow needed answers. Now.

"So... If I'm so confused, Kurosaki, then are you saying you wouldn't like it if I did this...?"

Despite his serious injuries, Grimmjow's reflexes were still pretty damn fast and he had Ichigo by the scruff of his shihakusho before he could even begin to pull back out of reach. Caught off balance, Ichigo fell forward onto his hands as Grimmjow pulled himself up, their heads almost colliding.

And suddenly, the fist that was wrapped in his clothing was pushing him back down. He landed hard on his back on the ground, expelling a puff of air and a grunt of surprise.

A shuffle of material signalled Grimmjow's shifting movement as he planted one hand on each side of Ichigo's shoulders, not straddling him though, not pinning him, giving him the freedom to move if he really wanted to. Grimmjow hovered over him, grimacing for a moment, and looking like he quite regretted the sudden motion.

Ichigo watched, open mouthed and frozen with amazement, as Grimmjow brought his mouth down onto Ichigo's and pressed their lips together. They were surprisingly soft and pliant, though the kiss itself was hard and demanding. When it ended, Ichigo realized with a growing sense of alarm that he hadn't tried to move. He had just laid there and let Grimmjow kiss him. Deja-vu.

Grimmjow bared his teeth. Ichigo hadn't responded, hadn't kissed him back. The touch and warmth and softness and scent of those lips had send a shot of hot adrenaline rushing down his midsection and into his stomach, leaving a nervous and excited feeling in its wake. But Ichigo was just staring stupidly up at him.

Ichigo was bereft of words, pinned by his cobalt eyes and transfixed by everything he saw in them. Turmoil, confusion, anger... and passion. Or was it just his own reflection that he saw?

Grimmjow finally sighed and rested his forehead against Ichigo's, their noses not quite touching, heated breath pooling in the small space between their faces.

"It's your fault," he breathed.

Ichigo's heart skipped beats. His injuries. His dying. This was his fault. Grimmjow had just told him so. He glanced down and then looked off to the side, away from those damning cerulean eyes.

"I know," he mumbled.

Grimmjow scowled as he swiftly picked up on Kurosaki's idiotic line of thought.

"Che. Get a grip Kurosaki. That wasn't your fault. There you go being all righteous and egotistical again, thinking you're the centre of the universe. Well you ain't. Sometimes the universe just throws shit at you and have to you make your choice and you go with it." He looked down at him and shrugged.

"It's what _I'm_ doing. And I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I'm still here, idiot."

Well. He never would have thought of it quite like that but... okay. If Grimmjow didn't blame him - and it was a canyon sized leap for Ichigo, being the sort of person who had a tendency to shoulder the burden - then neither would he.

Ichigo closed his eyes, reveling in the sudden peace his decision gave him, until the Espada shifted and he felt the weight of Grimmjow's sculpted body aligned and resting against his own. And with it he felt the growing hardness that pressed between them.

"_You _fucking did _this_ to me," Grimmjow growled.

_Oh. _And_ Holy Shit._

"You make me want to _fuck_ you up, Shinigami, and I think you _want_ me to."

"Wha-? You-? Can you be more disgusting? I do not want.. you... to... I- I-"

"Then prove me fucking wrong."

Ichigo opened his mouth to say... what... he had nothing. His brain seemed to have temporarily disengaged from his mouth. This... _that_... had happened because he'd kissed Grimmjow.

No. No he had not. He'd _let _himself be kissed. It was one thing to admit to _being_ kissed, another thing entirely to say that he in any way had been involved in the development of that kiss.

Ichigo's tongue flicked out over his dry lips as he sought to fling back a heated response, but before he could speak there was motion, a small realignment of things. Warm lips met his again.

Somewhere down in the basement of his mind, hinges started to creak, and wood began to groan and splinter from the insistent force that pushed against it.

A moist tongue invaded his mouth. He felt himself begin to stir. Grimmjow tasted earthy and spicy, raw, hot and primal... like... a dangerously potent drug that he could never get enough of. One taste, and he might already be hooked. He had to shrug it off.

The Espada moaned into his mouth.

With a concussive roar, the closet door blew apart and all the dirty little thoughts and treasured memories from his Las Noches vacation, the ones that he'd so dutifully piled inside, came tumbling out at once. Ichigo's world suddenly tilted sharply to the left as something inside him finally and thoroughly ignited...

...and he pulled back and punched Grimmjow in the face.

The Espada's head snapped to the side with a crack, and he hauled in a deep breath before turning back to Ichigo.

"Ow!"

The Espada blinked rapidly as he worked his jaw back and forth, fishing around inside his cheek with his tongue, running it along his teeth and tasting blood.

"The fuck?"

"Don't _ever_ pull that dying crap on me again, Grimmjow." The dark expression on Ichigo's face was molten.

"Grrrrrr... Kurosaki... you fucker..." The Espada's words were cut short as he abandoned them in favour of capturing Ichigo's mouth again with his own.


	21. Battlefield

Here is another chapter. Don't worry, there's more to come. Sorry it's taking so long. I had some major rewriting to do.  
>Wasn't happy with the original. Blame "Listen".<br>X alive x but x dying x made me rethink the speed of these chapters. Although it didn't slow me down much. *smiles happily and shrugs*

x

Junichiblue

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty One: Battlefield<strong>

One by one the city lights flickered on as dusk descended upon Karakura, and the night time crowds moved through the busy downtown streets. But up in the quiet suburbs, away from all the noise of the city, and shielded from the eyes of the afterlife, two warriors stepped warily onto a battlefield that both were equally unfamiliar with.

Grimmjow smiled internally in triumphant delight.

He finally had Kurosaki right where he wanted him.

The Espada was loathe to pull away from the warm mouth and that hot body that lay so willingly underneath him, but he couldn't rest his full weight down on the Shinigami for long, and his stomach muscles were protesting against the work they were doing. Instead, Grimmjow released him just long enough to take a breath before running his tongue along Ichigo's reddened lips and whispering a command.

"Mmmm, get up."

Curious despite himself and fast becoming lust addled, Ichigo obeyed. Grimmjow suppressed a hiss of pain as he stood carefully, breaking off the kiss and dragging Ichigo up with him.

"Uh- Oy. You should lie back down." There was that concern again.

"Been lying down for two days, dumb bitch," the bluenet replied around a tongue-full of Ichigo's mouth.

"God, you're such an asshole," the teen muttered as he pulled away, a glimmer of challenge back in his eyes. "Tell me what it is that I see in you again."

"Heh. You trying to seduce me?"

"Keh. Other way round."

"Che. As if."

The Espada was never one to beat around the bush. You didn't get what you didn't ask for, or take. He stepped back and looked pointedly at Ichigo's top, and in response the teen quickly shucked out of his shihakusho, feeling the cool air of the room wash over his skin.

And then they just stood there, exposed from the waste up, each just gazing at the flesh of the other for a long moment. Too long for Ichigo. This was retarded. A second ago all he wanted was to melt against Grimmjow and now he felt kind of stupid. This was too awkward. Nothing between them was ever easy, and Ichigo didn't know what he was supposed to do here. He'd never been with anybody before. Well, except for Grimmjow. But Ichigo hadn't even done anything then. It had all been Grimmjow.

And now Ichigo was supposed to do what exactly? Anything he wanted? Would it be fair game to just run his hands through that unruly blue hair or plaster himself against that chiseled chest and plunge his fist into that black nothingness just to see what, if anything, was inside? Because he rather wanted to.

It was Grimmjow who came to life first, abruptly putting and end to Ichigo's aberrant burst of self doubt, as his eyes and hands began roaming freely, ghosting over Ichigo's chest, neck, arms, and stomach, anywhere he could see skin. After a small moment of indecision, Ichigo began to do the same. He was hesitant at first, because touching the bits of Grimmjow's bare skin that weren't covered in bandages, and pressing against his chest and crescent stomach with his hands was so very new. It was almost frightening in its intensity, in the way it made him feel.

Ichigo swallowed hard and ran a finger lightly over the stained dressings, down the path where that familiar scar that ran down the centre of Grimmjow's chest would have been, and traced a line curiously around the un-bandaged edges his Hollow hole. Grimmjow growled, and Ichigo's eyes flew up, an apology balanced on his lips. But Grimmjow's eyes were closed, his head fallen back, leaving his throat exposed.

_Exposed._

Ichigo's pulse quickened, and instead he leaned up and mouthed the front of his neck, pressing his teeth against the skin. He could feel the deep pulsing of his blood and the vibration against his lips as Grimmjow growled again. Ichigo was amazed. The way it rumbled inside his throat made it sound like he was purring. He was _so_ fucking turned on by that sound. And he wanted to tell him that, tell him everything he felt, but Ichigo had simply lost the ability to speak. Finding his voice seemed almost as impossible as this whole situation.

The creature in front of him, so clearly fascinated with just touching him now, in places so sensitive and personal, had evolved in a way that Ichigo would never have believed, had he not been standing at the centre of that change. Ichigo no longer saw just the cold, bloodthirsty Espada of yesterday, the enemy who had sired such a profound hate in him that he'd had to spit his name out just to get it past his lips. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. He was still all of that, but so much more now. Somewhere in the slim space between all the chaos, the savage fighting, the curious peace and the unbearable threat of loss, he had become Grimmjow. And not just Grimmjow, but Grim.

Time must have skipped ahead because suddenly Grim was reaching down between them and releasing his white hakama. They pooled on the floor at his feet and he took a small step back, giving Ichigo one short moment to stare in awe at the full view of an exquisitely naked, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, the state of his arousal as impressive and commanding as the man it belonged to.

Ichigo forgot himself completely as he let his eyes rake up and down the bluenet. He stared almost indecently at his sculpted body, built for sin, before the Sexta sank carefully down onto his knees in front of Ichigo.

He gasped as Grimmjow ran his sword roughened hands over his sides and across his lower back, pressing his fingers into that same sweet spot from before. The sensation caused him to involuntarily jerk his hips forward, and he nearly choked as the Sexta began to lave wet trails with his tongue, and place gentle little bite marks across Ichigo's navel.

In this moment, Grimmjow was the worshipper and Ichigo was his temple. The young Shinigami was moaning above him, probably unaware that he was keening and mewling loudly in enjoyment and growing frustration.

Grimmjow purred as he licked his way along one side of Ichigo's taught navel to the other, his tongue dipping once, twice, just beneath the black material, the last layer of clothing the Shinigami possessed.

Ichigo had filled out since Grimmjow had started sparring with him. Now his muscles were hard and cut, the ridges of his abs defined all the way down. The Espada wanted to lick his way along the arrowed muscles that guided his eyes down towards those hips and to what lay stiff and warm beneath the black material of his hakamas.

The heady scent of Ichigo's lust filled his nose, and only a thin layer of material separated him from the source of that pleasant smell. Something Grimmjow wanted to cradle in his hands again if for no other reason that too drag out more of those whimpering sounds from the Shinigami, ones that begged Grimmjow to attack his body and take it over. He wanted to listen to him whine as his composure crumbled and he collapsed under Grimmjow's touch, a touch that was gentle enough not to kill, yet so obscenely powerful, that Ichigo had no way to fight it. Grimmjow had never known that kind of power existed, and now Ichigo actually _wanted_ him to wield it against him. His dick jumped at the thought.

When the bluenet growled and pulled away, Ichigo let an inquisitive and unintentionally plaintive sound escape him. The Espada answered with a grunt, and without any polite warning, Grimmjow tugged at Ichigo's sash. With a soft rustle, his black hakama fell away.

Ichigo fell silent. He couldn't breath. He was naked and exposed in front of the Sexta Espada. Again. And wildly aroused.

They'd been more than just enemies. Biter rivals. Nemeses.

Grimmjow had been hell bent on killing Ichigo, and Ichigo had tried his damnedest to the destroy the murderous Hollow. And now here he was, with his pants down and his dick hard, and his stomach in one big knot of nervous adrenaline and bucking hormones.

And Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, former Sexta Espada of Aizen's army was at his feet with his hands on his hips, his mouth open, and a hungry look in his blue eyes. The eyes that had become so brightly illuminated from the inside.

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh. God. Yes._

In the back of his mind, he was sure stranger things had happened to him, though he couldn't seem to think of a single one right now, or anything at all for that matter. All he knew was that he wanted to feel that hand there again, to be cradled in that hand, captured inside that tight fist and surrounded by those strong, gripping fingers.

Grimmjow let his eyes fall down onto Ichigo's stiff member, then glanced up to meet brown eyes, darkened with lust, his mouth hanging open. The kid didn't look to be breathing.

_Wait. Did he want him to...?_

The Espada was suddenly unsure. He'd wrapped his mouth around a lot of things before, but another man's dick wasn't one of them. But this wasn't just a man. This was Kurosaki fucking Ichigo, and Grimmjow _wanted_ to taste him, every part of him. He wanted to scratch and claw and bite and suck and taste everything the Shinigami had to give.

Pantera had tasted the Shinigami's flesh many times. Now it was Grimmjow's turn. He wanted to know him, explore each rise and dip and curve of his muscles, map out his body with his mouth and tongue.

Grimmjow leaned forward. And Ichigo almost bit his own tongue off.

The Espada had taken him in one smooth motion, wet heat engulfing his engorged member, sharp teeth dragging with the greatest of care over the taught skin and subtle ridges of his erection, tongue swirling over the head of his cock, before plunging back down to the base. Ichigo fought not to close his eyes as bright blue hair bobbed slowly back and forth.

"Ughnnn," he said. He meant,_ 'please go faster, harder, more, more, more._'

This was happening so fast. Too fast. Not fast enough. He wanted to reach down and tangle his hands in Grimmjow's hair and just fuck that hot, wet mouth with bucking hips and sharp thrusts until he exploded. Which at this rate, would be any second now.

Grimmjow suddenly stilled, and he heard the gasp of disapproval from above. The kid had brought him to his knees. His instincts told him this was a very bad, very dangerous position to be in. It made him want to bolt, _not run_, but get away.

No. He wasn't just an animal, and his mind knew that his instincts needed to settle the hell down. Grimmjow didn't run. Not from a challenge. Not from anything. And especially not from Kurosaki Ichigo. No. Kurosaki should be running from him. He huffed inside his head. He didn't really like the sound of that either. He didn't want to chase right now. He was done playing with his prey. He wanted to settle down now into a meal, take his time, devour it slowly.

"Grim," came the quiet plea, more of a gasp for air than anything. "Need..."

Not yet. He wanted to keep him suspended in desire, make him suffer in his need. He was going to torture Ichigo, watch him slowly lose that famous Kurosaki control, wind him up, watch him come undone, make him beg. _Yeah. That was good. _He realized though, with all his best laid plans, that Ichigo was going to take Grimmjow along with him. That was fine too.

Grimmjow released Ichigo's stoney erection with a soft, wet pop. He leaned onto one knee and pushed himself up, careful not to pull on the Shinigami, who's body he could feel quivering beneath his hands. They'd both end up on the floor if he did, and the Espada had spent quite enough time there recently, thank you.

Ichigo panted harshly and tried to regain control, find his brain again. Grimmjow was going to torture him. This was a contest. Good. He didn't want some castrated version of his former rival. He wanted the same fearsome, fiery, cunning, yet oddly predictable sonofabitch that he'd first come across over a year ago.

Well, Ichigo didn't break that easily. He could give as good as he got.

When the Espada finally righted himself, Ichigo snaked both hands behind his neck, a spot the Espada would naturally be wary to protect. It was a play to throw him off balance, within the boundaries of the game. Ichigo pulled him in for a rough kiss, pleased when Grimmjow grunted in surprise before he lashed out at Ichigo with his tongue, tasting of Ichigo's own sex.


	22. Lest We Fall Apart

**Chapter Twenty Two: Lest We Fall Apart**

Kurosaki Ichigo was vaguely aware that Grimmjow had begun slowly backing them up, corralling him into a corner, leading them both across the room towards a solid, wooden table that sat unused against the wall, its dark textured surface lightly polished and smooth.

Ichigo came to an abrupt stop and sucked in a breath as his naked ass hit the edge of the cool table.

He looked into Grimmjow's eyes, dilated pools of black, the intense blue barely rimming the edges. He was devastatingly beautiful.

Grimmjow was his. His own wild animal. Illegal. Untamed.

It was exhilarating knowing that this _creature_ could turn on him and kill him in an instant if he chose to, without even thinking about it. It was a dangerous feeling, being so close to something so powerful, so violent, and so free. But Ichigo was dangerous too, when he wanted to be, one of the few people who could ever handle such a creature, and the only one _allowed_ to.

It was those arctic blue eyes, though, that really made Ichigo's blood stir. More often that not, there was such an unwavering confidence in those eyes, an assured self reliance, as if he didn't know how to lose, as if he didn't know there was any other way to be, because he didn't. There were no teenage thoughts in there, nothing giving him pause in his own actions. He did what he wanted to do. Other people's feelings were not taken into consideration in the slightest. Their problems belonged to them, not his to consider. They did not weigh him down as they did Ichigo.

It was a freedom Ichigo envied a little, but it also concerned him. And though he'd seen a change in the Espada already, it was only a small start. Ichigo was suddenly taken by the overwhelming urge to set some things straight with Grimmjow, before the two of them went any further. He stilled him with a firm hand on his chest, above the bandages, against his collar bone, and looked up.

"Why? Why do you want this?"

The query caught him by surprise, a silent attack from behind, and Grimmjow froze. His azure eyes danced in front of the teen's expectant ones. Then he turned his head to the side, for a long moment looking almost pained, as if he were trying to puzzle out an answer to an almost impossible question, one he'd already asked himself over and over and hadn't quite figured out yet.

"I... _you_... you make me..." Ichigo watched as Grimmjow struggled, searching almost desperately for the words. "...feel."

Ichigo's lungs jerked, hitching his breath in his throat. He reached up and ran his finger tips down over the jagged white mask, infinitely more deeply grooved and porous up close than anyone would ever think.

Endless arctic blue returned to meet Ichigo's warm gaze.

"I want... to feel."

"Ah." Ichigo nodded and smiled. That was more than good enough. Those words coming out of the mouth of any other person would have been meaningless to Ichigo. But coming from Grimmjow it was the perfect expression of his lust, his want, his need. Hell, coming from Grimmjow, it was the ultimate fucking declaration of love... or the arrancar's closest approximation thereof.

He leaned in and kissed Grimmjow hard, greedy for another taste of _him_, before reluctantly pulling back.

"You need to know that there is much more to this world than just us," he breathed.

Grimmjow's expression changed almost imperceptibly as he looked at Ichigo, studying his face as if memorizing every feature. Then he leaned in close and brushed against the side of Ichigo's face with his own, and answered quietly, his breath warm in Ichigo's ear.

"I know that you dumb fuck."

His voice soften further, almost disappearing in a breathy whisper and the beginnings of a throaty growl.

"I want you to show it to me."

Ichigo shivered and resisted the temptation to let his head fall to the side, to just give in and bare his throat in submission. Instead, he replied by burying his face in the crook of Grimmjow's neck, and nuzzling his way along the Sexta's pheromone slicked skin with his nose, letting his tongue dart out then lap its way to the space just beneath his ear. He heard the faint little squeak that slipped past the Espada's lips, and he felt his neck move against his mouth as the bluenet swallowed. Ichigo hummed into his ear.

"Mmm. Oh, I'll _show_ it to you."

. . . . . . . . . .

A challenge with a promise in it. Grimmjow's lip lifted into a contented sneer, one shiny fang appearing.

He felt himself growing harder. They'd finally kissed, and it had left his head swimming. And Christ, there was still more to come. Shit, it was like he'd died and gone to heaven. Well, he _had_ died. But his heaven was Ichigo. And it was right here in front of him. Teasing him.

His words and his lean body were all teasing the Espada, winding him up and making him want. He didn't want to wait any longer. He could just see himself launching at Ichigo right now and taking him down for a hard and fast lay. Grimmjow was spoiled and rotten, and Ichigo... was just so fucking corruptible. Grimmjow longed to whisper every dirty, filthy, impure thought he could come up with, and spill it all into Ichigo's ear.

They had always been tangled up in games. They were playing a new kind of game now, a better more extreme version of their old game of cat and mouse, of Espada and Shinigami. There was only one rule as far as Grimmjow was concerned. This time both men might win, but only Grimmjow would come out on top. Scratch that. That was a stupid rule. Ichigo had to enjoy it as much as Grimmjow or it wouldn't be right. It would be just as unsatisfying as spilling his seed in the hallway with his own hand.

He wanted this to be... special.

Special?

The fuck?

What the fuck was happening to him? He wanted to ram Pantera straight through his brain and carve out the treacherous part of it that had produced that fucked up thought. It was like another personality was skulking around in there, poking its pussy little head up at random where it wasn't fucking wanted. It was like someone new kept appearing... a kinder, gentler Grimmjow.

_Pfffft. Not happening._

The foundations of his inner world were trembling, and he could feel the sands shifting into new shapes, sinking and cresting like miniature waves, the deep subtle vibrations emanating from the core of his soul and traveling up to the surface creating changes in the landscape that were so small they would escape the notice of the unfamiliar eye.

_Fuck that._ The bitch was his and he would take what he wanted. And oh, how he _wanted_.

He erased any more insidious thoughts by attacking Ichigo's mouth with his own. Ichigo's response was electric. The teen pushed back twice as hard, his hands rushing up and over the Espada's shoulders, nails running roughly across his back as they pulled him in. Grimmjow moaned and let his eyes slide shut, until Ichigo pulled away.

"Keep them open," he panted, eyes bright and full of bold desire.

The bluenet's brain was fuzzing at the edges. Mmmm. Grimmjow could do that.

Ichigo flashed a wicked smile and brought his parted lips up to Grimmjow's, and both men pressed into the kiss.

The hybrids flicked their tongues out to meet each other, the tips touching, tasting, feeling the rough texture of the wet surface, feeling the way the flexible muscle changed and reformed from something hard and inflexible to one that was soft and pliant, as they worked their tongues around each other and slipped against each other.

Ichigo pushed and Grimmjow's tongue gave and softened, only to flex as he pushed back with the sharp point of his tongue. Both men groaned wantonly, caring nothing for air as they thrust their hips against each other insistently, stiff erections trapped and rubbing together as both men battled above for dominance.

Ichigo wanted to hand over all of his careful control, surrender his body to the blue-eyed Espada who's scent and heat made him want to surge against him and just fucking fall apart. And Grimmjow wanted to take it from him, but Ichigo had to want him to. He had to give it up willingly, like he had before.

For several long minutes the room was filled with hums of approval and gasps of surprise as the two hybrid's tongues and hands engaged in rough and uninhibited exploration of hard muscle and warm flesh. They battled to break each other, trading rough, incendiary kisses that were dragged apart as lips slid hungrily down and along the sensitive skin of their necks and chests, teeth nipping and mouths sucking, leaving reddened marks and pale bruises, until neither one could stand it anymore.

Both men panting and half lidded, Grimmjow finally pulled away and motioned for Ichigo to turn around. He did it without question, and leaned forward, bracing himself against the table with outstretched arms, not caring that it was an indecent position to be in. Knowing it was made him hotter.

Grimmjow pressed against his backside, rubbing his turgid length in the space between. It felt so good, and that enjoyable sensation was just for himself.

_This_ was for Ichigo. The Sexta suddenly backed up and ran a hot wet tongue through the small of his back, dragging it solidly and slowly all the way along his spine, and using just the tip of it to trace his neck, flicking it as he moved. Ichigo shivered and goosebumps raised his flesh.

"Ahhh... God... Grim... killing me."

The Espada's eyes widened, then a toothy smile stretched across his face. Grimmjow had been wrong. That had done just as much for him as it had for Ichigo. That sense of control felt dangerous and corrupting. And he wanted it to be absolute.

Grimmjow had no illusions that he was actually controlling the orange haired spitfire. If he was, it was only because Ichigo was _letting_ him be in control, because Ichigo _wanted it_ that way. And that was just how it needed to be. That power was what kept the balance, what made this feel so right.

Grimmjow was a fucking freight train, and he would run Ichigo down if he didn't stand up for himself. You didn't fuck around with a power like Grimmjow. He was in charge now. This soul was his property, and he was more than ready to rule over it.

He had to be king of something... to _have_ the one thing in his life that suddenly mattered above all else. Right now he was Kurosaki Ichigo's king. Ichigo was his, and he would rule him, dominate him, and defend him if it came to that. Not that Ichigo needed saving, but one word from the teen, and Grimmjow would tear apart any poor bastard that tried to kill his Ichigo. His body, this soul, these groans, and these noises... it all _belonged_ to him.

"_I want... to feel." Fuck yes. I want to feel your body writhing beneath me, helpless and defeated, wanting me to break you, begging me to release you, screaming my name as I consume your soul._

Grimmjow wanted nothing more than to devour Ichigo's soul right here and now, and make him a part of himself. And he wanted to _be_ devoured, to become a part of Ichigo.

The Espada wrapped his leathery hands around the boney edges of Ichigo's slender hips in a bruising grip and lined himself up. There was no more room for questions now. No asking for permission. They were long past such trivialities. No fingers scissored gently inside Ichigo's entrance to loosen him up in preparation. Neither man had any idea what they were doing, instinct and urges the only guide they had.

Ichigo couldn't help the feeling of nervous anticipation that was steadily edging its way towards the darker shades of fear, and he turned to look at Grimmjow, seeking understanding and comfort, and seeing instead only barely restrained lust. That nearly maddened look from the murderous Hollow that he'd come to know so well.

Grimmjow could see hesitance in Ichigo's eyes, feel it in the stiffening of his muscles against his hands. Grimmjow's pulse thumped inside his rigid erection, and it quivered at the thought of entering Ichigo's body, at the promise of being imbedded in warm flesh. His cock ached with need so brutally and wonderfully intense that he was going to come unravelled if he didn't get release soon. Black pupils forced blue irises to yield as the Sexta swallowed around his tongue and dragged in a deep breath.

He wanted to take Ichigo, the way he always took the things he wanted, to throw him down and plunge into him in a violent and penetrative act.

But more than that, impossibly more, he wanted just to be close to Ichigo, surround him, press against him, be inside of him, and stay there. Caution was needed and he knew it. This thing between them, this relationship, whatever the hell it was, it was fragile, and his natural aggression could spook Ichigo, make him rethink things. And that wouldn't do.

The repulsive thought sent a shot of cold steel right through him. Empires could fall and Grimmjow wouldn't care. Without him he would wither and die. Without him, he couldn't breath. Grimmjow's actions now, his unrestrained enthusiasm, could send Ichigo running. He could lose him. And that couldn't happen**. **Grimmjow would kill _everything_ if it did.

Ichigo was staring straight down the barrel of a gun, into the shining eyes of a creature with an explosive nature that was unrivalled. He was a hundred tonnes of raw force, that untethered power, fuelled by unbalanced emotion and ravenous lust. It was all right there for Ichigo to see.

And all of it at his back doorstep. It was scaring the shit out of him.

And what a fucking turn on.

The way a few wild blue strands of hair hung down over his eyes. The way the green markings slashed up under them. The way his eyes had turned almost black. They looked predatory. Naked. Hungry. For him.

Grimmjow exhaled in a rush of air, and with all the strength he had, he buried the emotion that threatened to break him, forcing himself to focus instead on setting a reassuring azure gaze on Ichigo's large brown-rimmed pupils, those eyes that he hated so goddamn much.

He laughed internally at the absurdity of it all, and in the way that it all made sense.

He didn't know when exactly it had happened, and he'd be fucked if he'd _ever_ know how, but the fact was that the infernal Kurosaki Ichigo was now the absolute centre of the universe. The one place that the loneliness couldn't follow.

Through sheer force of will, he was going to hold himself back as much as he, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, an arrancar, could.

But fuck, what this kid did to him. Precum was beading on the tip of his cock like he'd sprung a fucking leak. He ran a thumb and forefinger across the slit of his tip and hissed from the pleasure, knowing instinctively that what was about to happen would feel a hundred times better. He used the pale liquid to slick his shaft, making it slippery under his fingers, glistening as it twitched.

He waited until he felt Ichigo relax, and then Grimmjow took a deep breath and paused, pressing against the small opening, blue eyes beginning to glow opalescent, primitive and untamed. Every nerve in his body danced with the anticipation of the kill.


	23. When We Fall Apart, We Come Together

Note: I noticed that some of you missed chapter 19. I figure it's because I put out a double post of 19 and 20. So let me say this. To those of you who know who you are... I forbid you to read any further until you read nineteen! There. :D  
>So get your butts back there and read. You're officially forbidden from reading this chapter until you're properly caught up.<br>*blinks and wonders why you're reading anyway* *sighs and walks off* -JB

If you see a mistake, PM me. It's almost midnight and I couldn't see a mistake right now if it jumped up and bit me on the nose.

Warning: Lemons and dark themes.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 23: When We Fall Apart, We Come Together<strong>

Grimmjow wanted access to that tight space. Entering him in this way seemed like the natural thing to do.

Ichigo gasped and almost gagged as he felt the broad head of the Espada's cock, wet with pre-cum, pushing into his tight rectum, intense pressure building as it forced the tense walls apart.

_Crap_. _It hurt._ Pain lanced through his insides, splintering down his legs and through his hips, hot and sharp inside his ass, like he was being ratcheted apart.

"Ahh... Fuck! Shit... Shit... Shit..." Ichigo twisted against the table and hissed, panting for breath as his body tried to accommodate Grimmjow's rigid-as-steel erection. Ichigo could feel the thick head of Grimmjow's cock sliding into him, tunnelling its way into his tight channel. He didn't want this. He stiffened and tensed at the intrusion, and it felt like Grimmjow was trying to displace his spine with his dick, pushing the bones up through his skin and out of his back.

Ichigo shook his head. No more. He couldn't take any more of him.

The Espada jerked as he felt himself caught fast, as those tight muscles clamped down on him. The edges of his vision began to haze and sparkle with tiny, arching streaks of light. He blinked rapidly and gritted his teeth, all the pains in his body momentarily drowned out by the dumbing sensation of the sensitive tip of his member being very effectively immobilized. Crushed.

After all their fights, it looked like Ichigo had finally found the perfect way to take him down.

"Fucking... hell! Relax... Ichi... go." Grimmjow was panting like an abandoned dog left baking under the scorching heat of the dessert sun.

"I... _am_... relaxed," Ichigo hissed back.

"Bull... shit. If you want me... to stop... just fucking say so... and I'll... _consider_ it."

"Keh. You think... I can't _handle_ it?" An angry face twisted around to glare at the cause of his discomfort, a defiant blue flame flickering in the depths of the Shinigami's eyes. He was literally a major pain in the ass. Grimmjow's jaw muscles twitched as he gritted his teeth.

"Never said that."

"You just... implied it. _Ah_..."

"I don't... _imply..._ shit."

Ichigo turned away. Twisting himself halfway around like that was even more uncomfortable, and it made him feel that much more irritable.

"Now you're... being evasive, as well," he groused.

Jesus Christ. Ichigo wanted to start an argument with Grimmjow, _now_? He'd go right ahead and fuck the little shit anyway if it would just shut him up. _If he could move._

"Fuck, would you... get off my case? If I thought you couldn't handle it... _shit_... you wouldn't be worth it. That direct enough for ya?"

That voice - the one that could all at once be as rich and smooth as honey and then drop like a sharpened stone into a dangerous, rough growl - it called Ichigo back, reminded him why he wanted this. And he _did_ want this._ Him. Badly._

"Uhuh."

The Espada detached his sword hand from Ichigo's hip, his only support at the moment aside from his tired, aching legs, and he began to rub his hot palm in tight circles against the small of Ichigo's back.

"So, fucking relax," he murmured.

Grimmjow was being... tender? _Fuck_. If Grimmjow could be tender, then Ichigo could relax. He had to relax. _Right_. Ichigo willed himself to take long slow breaths, and he fought not to push or clench against the intrusion. Slowly, he began to feel his racing heart decelerate and his body release its death-grip on the Espada. He was vaguely aware now that it didn't hurt in the way that he thought it would. Ichigo was well acquainted with pain, but this was a new kind of pain, a whole new sensation, the feeling of being entered and stretched. The teen turned his head and looked hungrily over his shoulder at the blue-haired Espada.

"That all you got?" Ichigo husked.

Grimmjow sighed in relief and growled huskily from behind the teen in response.

"Now you're talking, Kurosaki."

Ichigo shivered and groaned his approval. The green light. Grimmjow's heart jumped in excitement at the sudden and explicit thought of unloading himself into the Shinigami.

Grimmjow's powerful hip muscles flexed as he pushed himself forward painfully slowly and eased himself inside, grunting at the sensation, at the impossibly tight ring of muscles that gripped his hard member, heat and pressure surrounding it, volcanic and vice-like.

But _fuck_ Ichigo felt so good around him, like he was being held in a tight embrace. And knowing that Kurosaki wouldn't just give it away made it that much better. Grimmjow had somehow earned the right, no, the fucking _privilege_ of being the first one to engage him in this intimate way. They were connected in the most personal way possible. Ichigo was making him feel...

"Holy... fuck," Grimmjow snarled. His whole body was trembling. "Shit." It was too goddamn much. "Ichi..."

There was nothing left to say. From then on there was only action, without words, their bodies coming together, speaking for them. Both were caught in a need too strong to deny. No notions of love, or promises of anything said out loud, nothing voiced, just a shared undeniable need to become as physically close as their spiritual bodies would allow.

Grimmjow began to rock them both slowly back and forth, sliding out just a little, then pushing back in, gentle but _relentless_. The sweet resistance put up by Ichigo's body was only inviting him to overpower it, to take his pleasure. He moved until he had buried the length of himself inside Ichigo, his groin pressed solidly against Ichigo's firm ass.

Arms quaking, Ichigo let his hands slide down until his abs pressed against the table, his stomach slick with sweat and precum, his trapped erection ready and achingly hard. He whimpered in frustration and hoped in vain that the Espada would acknowledge his cry and take pity on him. Because Grimmjow and pity were so frigging synonymous.

His eyes fluttered open in surprise as Grimmjow grabbed his shoulder and urged him back up onto his elbows. The Espada reached around and slid his hand up Ichigo's chest, pinching lightly at his hard nipples before dragging his hand back down to Ichigo's navel where it _finally_ found purchase on the long, turgid member that stood upright and straining for attention. Grimmjow felt the Shinigami's dick practically jump willingly into his palm, and Ichigo arched his back with a supplicant whine, pleading for the Sexta to pump him to completion. Grimmjow moved his hand and Ichigo's world brightened with pleasure. The shaft inside him wasn't wholly unpleasant now but it didn't provide him with the nearly the sensation he needed to find release. The hand that was not his - that was _Grimmjow's -_ ran itself up and down his shaft in time with the Espada's slow, deep thrusts.

The Sexta's eyes wanted to roll back an inspect his brain, but he forced them to focus on the wanton creature in front of him. The kid's body was so fucking responsive to every little thing that Grimmjow did to it. And the big things he did too. But Grimmjow had no intention of letting Kurosaki get away with cumming in his hand again. He wanted to drive him to orgasm with his whole body this time, take him with all the force of a true Espada, make him never forget. He drew his fist back and forth one last time and then let him go.

Ichigo raged inside when he felt cool air rush over his weeping erection. The asshole wasn't going to give him what he wanted. How the hell was he supposed to get off? Ichigo didn't have the power to fight him. Maybe he didn't need to. A tendrilous shadow crept into the edges of his eyes, and for a moment a glint of gold flashed over his pupils before fading away. His body _wanted_ to be invaded, taken over, bruised and beaten into submission, to be properly fucked.

He twisted himself around and reached back with his right hand, his palm open flat against Grimmjow's body, feeling the hard bone of his hip, and he pushed Grimmjow back. Grimmjow had to force himself to still, though it physically hurt him to do so, waiting to see what his partner would do.

_Because it mattered to him._

Ichigo used his other arm to push his own body back, slowly sliding himself down and along that rigid pole till his backside ground hard into Grimmjow's hips, moaning as he did. Grimmjow growled low and feral as he watched the man in front of him wantonly thrust himself against him, his azure eyes riveted to the sight of his own shaft disappearing into Ichigo's body under Ichigo's guidance.

Reading the other mans needs, an impatient, guttural sound telling the Espada that he wanted him to take over, Grimmjow bent himself forward, pinning the willing body beneath him to the table. And though his body screamed at him to stop, he began to move, slowly increasing his pace until he was pumping hard and fast and rhythmic, and the only noises in the room were grunting, panting, and the wet slapping sounds of the two males' sweat covered skin colliding hard, over and over. Each thrust was followed by a grunt, a moan, a whine... the sounds of struggle... and they called out to Grimmjow's most basic and animal instincts.

He couldn't help himself then. Their pace was becoming frantic, urgent, and Grimmjow was losing his mind.

He opened his mouth, and _saw_ himself as he plunged sharp fangs into the flesh of Ichigo's neck, tearing through hard muscles, breaking soft tissue, burying his teeth in his veins, and strangling the flow of air and blood.

Without warning he grabbed the hair on the back of Ichigo's head and jerked his lean body upward, forcing him to arch his back, and wrenching a gasp of surprise and a soft grunt of fear from the Shinigami. Grimmjow twisted his fist tightly into the orange hair and turned Ichigo's head sideways, exposing the side of his neck. Without warning, he brutally sunk his teeth into the muscled flesh between the teen's neck and shoulder, breaking the skin, enjoying the salty taste of his sweat coated body, tinged with the darker copper taste of his blood, and inhaling the thick scent of his arousal.

Ichigo yelped and jerked at the unexpected pain. The Espada had become all teeth, and claws, damaging and raw, taking him down like a fucking animal, wrapping his jaws around his throat like he was coming in for the kill.

The Shinigami stiffened in pain as the front edge of the Sexta's toothy bone-mask dug sharply into his shoulder, rubbing against skin and bone, bruising and abrading it. The feral arrancar bit down harder and secured his hold. Cobalt blue lit up from within as he slowly drained the teen of his spiritual power, drinking the very blood of his soul.

Kurosaki Ichigo felt the very foundations of his inner world begin to tremble, and he moaned loudly, crumbling to pieces underneath the Espada and submitting to his lover's harsh demands.

He should have been terrified with almost two hundred pounds of hungry predator on top of him, decades of predatory instincts built up and sharpened to a razor's edge, those feral senses honed in on every twitch and tremor of Ichigo's vulnerable body.

Hundreds of tiny droplets were glistening on the Espada's skin, dampening the soft blue hair at the base of his neck, and pulling together into wet beads that trickled along the skin of his back, descending in rivulets with glistening tails down the Sexta's curved spine.

Ichigo's struggled for breath as his whip cord body was bent back as far as it would go.

If Ichigo lived through this, kitty was going to be declawed.

His battle weathered hands scrabbled for purchase against the smooth surface of the table, but the sweat that dripped from his brow was dropping onto the soft wood grain and it offered little resistance.

Resistance.

Ichigo had none left.

_Missing. Kurosaki Ichigo's resistance. If found, please call..._

His palms skidded out from under him, and his chest hit the table with a muffled grunt, his ass in the air.

Ass in the air. Resistance and dignity. What did those words even mean anymore? Words were just sounds now, and sounds were just signals. Go. Harder. Deeper. Faster. More. Yes. Yes.

Fuck me, Grimmjow.

The Espada came down heavy on top of him with a vicious grunt. Growling dangerously from somewhere deep and primal, Grimmjow stayed latched onto Ichigo's neck and held him firmly in that awkward position as he rutted inside his mate, his breath coming out like steam through his nose in quick, hot puffs against Ichigo's throat.

Ichigo cried out with every savage thrust, voice rising and cracking each time they crashed together until he was almost screaming. Brown eyes rolled up under half closed lids, his body held hostage, suspended somewhere between the pain and the pleasure as it all jumbled together, tension beginning to coil tightly inside of his belly as Grimmjow pulled out of him, and drove into him, slamming him towards ecstasy, sliding over and over again across that excruciatingly sensitive place inside of him that he didn't even know he had.

Grimmjow eyes were ground shut, focused on the sensations, the blood in his mouth, the tightening in his balls, the cresting of pleasure in his groin. Feeling the pressure inside himself building unbearably, he finally released the tortured flesh.

He pushed Ichigo down firmly against the table with his own body and brought his lips to Ichigo's ear. For a brief moment, he pushed deep inside of him and held himself there while he sucked on the tender lobe, and Ichigo whined as his senses reached near overload. Grimmjow was nearing his own limits and he growled a low and purposeful warning, licking the lobe again as he did, before continuing his hard and fast pace with a snap of his powerful hips.

"Ichigo..."

Table legs scraped back and forth across hard floor, the sharp sound accompanying each thrust.

"...Mm gonna... fuck'n... cum in... you."

The affect on Ichigo was instant. The words sent the naked Shinigami beneath Grimmjow into a writhing fit of moans and spasms, and an agonized cry, anguished and euphoric, ripped from the teen's throat as rope after rope of sticky semen began spilling between Ichigo's body and the table beneath him, pooling and smearing between the two surfaces.

Grimmjow's own rhythm fell apart at the unrestrained sounds that Ichigo made, his hips jerking forward in uncontrolled thrusting as he heaved on top of the Shinigami. The muscles inside Ichigo clamped down in spasm around him, adding sweet resistance to his movements. He grunted through clenched teeth, and finally roared his own release and plunged the length of himself as hard and as deeply as he could into Ichigo, burying himself there, as a swell of cum surged down his shaft and burst from the tip of his length, and he filled Ichigo's body with his seed.

Ichigo moaned Grimmjow's name like a mantra as he felt his insides being flooded with heat, being filled by the Espada's powerful release.

Grimmjow's essence.

Coherent thoughts vanished like mist, but for one, and the young Shinigami's head spun as he realized that Grimmjow had actually spilled his seed _inside_ Ichigo's naked body, and he shuddered as more spasms rocked through him.

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><p>They both lay collapsed and boneless in a sweaty heap across the table, Ichigo trapped beneath Grimmjow's heavy weight. The muscles in Grimmjow's legs trembled from his exertions, threatening to give, and both men's lungs heaved in tandem as their fatigued bodies demanded oxygen.<p>

The Espada rested his head against Ichigo's back and listened to the rapid thumping of his heart, its pace matching his own. Long minutes passed before Grimmjow finally pushed himself up and began to ease himself out, his erection already on the precipice of reawakening because..._ My God..._ that had been incredible. And if his body would let him, he would do it again, right now.

"_Matte." Wait._

The single quiet word was all it took to make him stop his slow withdrawal.

"Don't... move yet... Grim..." Ichigo turned his head back, seemingly half asleep, eyes half mast, skin washed in glittering sweat and afterglow. Looking thoroughly fucked. Amazing. Grimmjow's eyes widened for a moment before he shook his head and grinned, his fanged teeth stained pink at their base with Ichigo's blood.

"I've got a hard-on that says we're more than halfway towards doing it again," he warned in a low, sensual tone. "If I stay, you're gonna be in trouble Ichigo."

It was a false threat. He'd far exceeded the limits of what his abused body could take, and he was damn near ready to pass out himself.

Ichigo breathed a tired sigh and nodded. He didn't want the feeling of fullness to be taken away, that solid presence that still lay buried deep within him, penetrated him, that split him apart from the inside. He wanted to fall asleep to it, stretched to his limits, open, vulnerable, taken, and hopelessly impaled by Grimmjow.


	24. Aftermath

A thousand apologies for such a long awaited update. These next chapters were roughed out before christmas but after chapter 23... i was quite exhausted from writing it. And judging by your responses, you were similarly affected from reading it.

Thank you for you all of your wonderful responses. And a special thanks to the those of you who urged me to keep going. It was the last few though, the naggers, that got my lazy butt going again. The _ "day 56... supplies running low"_ remark, was brilliant. XD

So huge kudos to you guys. If you want shit from me, just keep nagging. I need it.

I'm not sure how i feel about this chapter. I feel my writing style has changed a bit and not for the better. Maybe_ I've_ changed. I don't know. But i'm trying to keep the writing the same as my first chapters as much as I can. So tell me what you think, like it, hate it, I can take it. Sending helpful and constructive critiques my way is always just as welcome as outright blowing kisses. ^_^ If you see any mistakes, do let me know. Thanks!

XOX JB

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty four: Aftermath<strong>

Ichigo's legs hadn't wanted to carry him across the short space to where their beds lay, and Grimmjow's simply couldn't.

_Ichigo had moaned quietly as Grimmjow finally and gradually pulled his partial erection from where it lay buried in his insides. The sweet suction had dragged an excited gasp from the Espada as he uncoupled himself and released his prey. No. His partner. He'd wished as much as Ichigo that they could have stayed locked together, fully engaged, and securely joined while they slept. He had never felt heat or security like that which he had found inside Ichigo. The slow acceptance of his body as he'd pushed himself deep inside the other had been mind blowing. Grimmjow already craved more of that penetrative power, the aggressive take-over, and the pleasing destruction of Ichigo's resistance. It had been fucking perfect. Their union had the sense of something stolen, but freely given._

_And so fucking willingly taken. _

Even before Ichigo pushed himself up from the table, he could already feel the unrelenting pull of post coital sleep setting in and dragging his eyelids together. Coupled with his own injuries, his muscles had all the consistency of overcooked noodles. Every part of him was spent to the core, and his body cried out for rest. He wasn't sporting nearly as many deep cuts as Grimmjow. Urahara's kidou treatments had taken care of Ichigo's most superficial wounds. He was plagued more by deep tissue injuries, bruised organs, and micro fractures in his bones, from where he'd taken the brunt of several devastating blows during his standoff against the Shinigami captains. Blows that he'd taken for Grimmjow. Now his muscles ached and pulled.

He wished now that he had let Inoue heal his injuries at the hospital. She'd offered of course, but Ichigo had flat out refused, pointing out that the nurses could walk in at any moment and her powers might be discovered. It wasn't worth the risk, and Ichigo never risked anything that belonged to his friends. Truth was, he didn't want to be healed. It wasn't fair that he should walk away scott-free, when Grimmjow, though stable after two rough nights, was stuck taking the long and hard road to recovery. They were in this together now, and though Ichigo was tired and stiff and ached all over, it wasn't even worth complaining about in the scheme of things. They were the kind of injuries that time would heal.

Ichigo's leg muscles were quaking so hard, it took all of his strength to keep them both upright. Grimmjow hadn't even uttered a single complaint when Ichigo had wrapped one sinewy arm around the Espada's back and offered up his uninjured shoulder for support. It was worrying. It had been too soon, too much for Grimmjow. The Espada had leaned so heavily on Ichigo that they had literally stumbled naked across the room, those few short steps feeling as long as a thousand to the both of them.

Grimmjow didn't resist when he felt himself being held. He was too exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, too many fuses blown to even think of fighting against beingin such a vulnerable position. He was weak. But he didn't care. He barely had the strength to gather his thoughts together, let alone make the infinitely long, epic twelve foot trek across the room.

He had been resigned to just outright collapsing onto the floor where they stood, but Ichigo seemed determined to get him to the slightly more comfortable bed. It was disconcerting, the way Ichigo seemed to have Grimmjow's best interests so firmly at heart. Ichigo had had little choice but to put up with him back home, letting him actually steal food from his plate, something Grimmjow himself would have killed over without a second thought.

In many ways, the Shinigami was still a mystery to the Espada. After every despicable thing Grimmjow had done to him, Ichigo had invited him to his world, saved him from death, watched over him, let him dominate him, let him violate him, cum for him, and now the stupid bastard was concerned about his comfort. Why? And why was it so important for Grimmjow to understand? Grimmjow's head swam suddenly, and his muscles trembled and began to give under the strain of total exhaustion and the shit tonne of emotions that were still churning and rolling inside him like violent ocean waves.

They had made it across the wood floor as far as Ichigo's mattress when Grimmjow's body had completely given up and he had slid down out of Ichigo's failing grasp and onto the sheets. The bluenet had dragged himself onto his own bed, his vision wavering. The analgesic effects from their sexual encounter were quickly wearing off, and he was groaning without restraint and huffing against the pain when he rolled from his side to onto his injured back.

Ichigo followed Grimmjow down and studied him in concern. He was bleeding again. Blood was seeping from every gash and adding a small fresh ring of obsidian to the edges of the dried stains on his bandages. Shit. Ichigo knew they needed to get those wrappings changed, but neither one of them had the strength or particular motivation to deal with it just yet. First thing tomorrow though, they would redress those wounds.

Ichigo fell back against his bed, his shoulder brushing up against the Espada's. No matter how spent he was, there was no way he was going to fall asleep right away. He lay there watching Grimmjow for a quarter of an hour, the strong, rhythmic rising and falling of his chest a comforting sign. A round of sex with Ichigo wasn't going to kill the Espada. He wasn't going to die during the night. Sleep was all they both needed. Ichigo slid his hand up over his abs and covered Grimmjow's hand with his own, a smile ghosting over his lips before his eyes fluttered closed and he finally let sleep claim him.

The Espada was out almost the instant his head had hit the small pillow, but his hand had found its way onto Ichigo's warm chest, resting against his heart. It was as if Grimmjow was afraid he might leave. It felt possessive. And it felt good.

* * *

><p>The streets outside were empty, the droning hum of the streetlights the only thing that made a sound in the gradually thinning darkness of the early morning hours. Ichigo woke on his back to find that they had somehow shifted apart during the night. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, then out of habit twisted around to check the small clock that Urahara had left for him on the floor near the wall at the head of his bed. It was just past five a.m. So they'd had a good five hours of sleep at least. He let his head fall to the side, his gaze coming to rest on the uncovered form of his partner. His thoughts jumped back to the Espada's first night in this room. Grimmjow was still here. Ichigo had asked him to stay and he had stayed. Whole and real and solid.<p>

Ichigo let his eyes trail up Grimmjow's powerful legs and leisurely crawl over the rise of his muscular ass, then glide down the slope of his back. He pushed them up and over those broad shoulders before letting them come to rest on his face, where his appreciative thoughts abruptly vanished like mist.

Grimmjow was watching him.

Ichigo felt his heart pick up its rhythm, and he swallowed. He was caught looking. More so though, he realized that Grimmjow had been watching him sleep. Before he could work himself into a mental uproar over it, Ichigo was suddenly mesmerized and intrigued. Those blue eyes held something Ichigo had never seen in them before. Grimmjow's face had an expression that sat there lightly, warily, like it wasn't used to being there. It was as if something small and scared had finally found its way nervously out into the world, and was ready to retreat back beneath the white bone mask in the blink of an eye should it sense even the slightest threat. Grimmjow looked different somehow... calmer, content, like he'd found some sort of release. (aside from the blatantly obvious pornographic interpretation of the word, Ichigo mused) What he was seeing in Grimmjow's eyes, he was sure, was peace.

Ichigo was afraid that if he blinked, it would be gone. And it probably would. He was still Grimmjow, and Ichigo knew inherently that a rare moment like this was something that could only be cherished. Never kept. He sighed quietly, breaking eye contact before the other could, so the image would remain unchanged in his mind for as long as he could remember it.

Looking away served a dual purpose. Ichigo was beginning to feel a bit like a butterfly, pinned and displayed for its beauty and studied by its collector's eyes. Having anyone stare at him always made him feel antsy and uncomfortable at the best of times. In spite of himself, Ichigo allowed his eyes to travel back almost of their own accord towards the twin blue flames that were so intently set on his face. A moment passed and soon he was just determined to hold his ground and be un-intimidated by the powerful stare. It felt nice though, being watched in such quiet consideration by someone who he could safely assume was very, very attracted to him. And it kindled the deep and sated feeling that had so recently forged a stronghold in Ichigo's soul, until it spread through his body, bringing with it a pleasant tingling feeling that extended down to the end of his toes and reached right up into the quivering tips of his bright orange hair.

Grimmjow lay on his front, his blankets folded twice beneath him, providing much needed cushioning against his sore muscles. Finally, gingerly, the bluenet moved. He reached one arm out, hand on its side, palm open, and waited. Calm. Certain. Expecting but not demanding.

The small distance between them suddenly seemed like a great yawning chasm to Ichigo, and he didn't hesitate as he shifted towards him, taking the Sexta's hand and sliding underneath it. Grimmjow pushed himself carefully onto his left side and Ichigo closed the distance until they lay together in a semi embrace. As if choreographed, they pressed their foreheads together, and Ichigo, still half asleep and lazy brained, rubbed his nose against Grimmjow's in a rare and uninhibited show of affection until Grimmjow snorted and pulled away with a rude grunt.

Annoyance and hurt instantly flared inside Ichigo. After everything they'd done last night, after every fucked up thing Ichigo had let Grimmjow do to him in the heat of their passion... Grimmjow wouldn't accept a simple gesture of Ichigo's affection. It was an understatement to say that he didn't like that Grimmjow hadn't responded quite as he hoped he would to his shy yet supremely open emotional display.

The fucker had snorted at him. But Ichigo should have expected as much. Being with the former Espada and getting along smoothly was bound to be a monumental undertaking. Grimmjow was unaccustomed to the ways of the living world, and he had a huge task ahead of him; he was going to have to _unlearn_ being a bastard.

He couldn't help that the Espada's reaction felt like a rebuff to the inexperienced teen, like a solid slap in the face. Maybe it wasn't an outright rejection, but it was still a refusal to surrender and just accept Ichigo's feelings as they were given. Grimmjow had stepped on his pride. Before Ichigo could react and raise a fuss about it, Grimmjow turned his head to realign them and pressed his lips against the teen's. The kiss this time was long and slow and deep, but gentle, and Ichigo fell into the feeling of it, surprised by the degree of tenderness and warmth it possessed. Each man was drinking in the taste of the other, two parched souls savouring the feeling as they sank into the kiss. The heat of it left Ichigo's head swimming and he had to blink several times until he regained his senses. It was frightening that there was so much power inside that kiss, enough to throw Ichigo right off his game and hurl him into the stratosphere.

So maybe he could let this one slide. There would probably be heaps of stupid misunderstandings, heated arguments, and bruising fights, but Ichigo believed they would figure it out together, in time, and that the blue haired man would be worth the aggravation. He certainly was last night.

Ichigo shuddered pleasantly and snaked his arm around Grimmjow's back, his fingers finding a patch of skin where the texture differed slightly, a strange and distant thrum of power coursing just beneath the tanned surface. As he traced one finger along it, he realized that it was the mark of the Sexta, the black tattoo that announced the rank of each Espada. Grimmjow broke the kiss, and a firm grip clamped down around Ichigo's forearm and stilled his wandering hand.

"Don't touch that," he grumbled, irritation glinting in the sleepy blue eyes.

"Why not?" Ichigo's brows lowered into confusion over his own eyes, the barest hint of hurt reflected in their depths. Did he not trust him? After all that? He strained against Grimmjow's arm, keeping his hand exactly where it was.

"Get your _fucking_ hand off my back," Grimmjow snapped, his lips peeling back as he bared his oversized canines. His upper lip trembled and twitched as he growled dangerously at Ichigo, faces inches apart. Only an epic moron would miss so many physical warning signs. The incredibly hostile body language itself made it clear that the Espada was upset about having his tattoo touched. But more than anything, it was that small telling sign, the quiver in his lip, that let Ichigo know just how close to the edge the Espada actually was, how intense his emotions really were. Ichigo knew this could get really ugly really fast if he didn't heed the clear warning.

_Oh hell no. Ichigo snarled internally. No you don't, you bastard._

Ichigo would beat the hell out of him before he'd ever move his hand. His mind was playing catch-up and it was only now dawning on him that the side of the Espada he'd come to fall the hardest for didn't really exist.

This Grimmjow wasn't drunk.

He wasn't sedated. No forty ounce tranquillizer was on hand to pacify and soothe him, or cut the sharp edges off the highs and lows of his emotions. And he wasn't dying anymore. He wasn't gentle. Or thoughtful. Or sweet. And he didn't care, maybe couldn't _ever_ care the way Ichigo needed him to.

This Grimmjow had a switchblade temper and threw world class destructive tantrums when things didn't go his way. This Grimmjow would attack Ichigo with the intent to kill or at the very least, try to seriously maim him. Avoiding Grimmjow's rage could be a lot like navigating a minefield, backwards, while blindfolded. Well, if Grimmjow thought Ichigo was going to back down, he had another fucking thing coming.

Weakness would never be respected. And boldness would be crushed. He was taking a big risk, but he had to. This was his world and Grim had to learn to reign in his flash fire temper or he would never be able to stay here. The orange haired Shinigami wasn't ready to face the possibility of Grimmjow returning to his own world. Ichigo had to hold his ground. It was Grimmjow's turn to receive some training now. He was going to get an answer out of Grimmjow even if he had to force it out of him. Ichigo would just have to deal with the consequences.

"I'm not moving my '_fucking'_ hand until you tell me why I should."

The jaw bone quivered as the bluenet's jaw tightened. Nobody but nobody told Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez what to do. Aizen had tried and tried, and maybe the bastard _had_ succeeded in establishing an element of control, but Grimmjow had resisted every step of the way. If Kurosaki thought he was going to step in and boss Grimmjow around now, he was in for a nasty surprise.

"Bite me."

The skin across the Espada's knuckles whitened as his grip tightened, as storm clouds continued to gather in his eyes. And though Ichigo didn't make a sound, Grimmjow could see a trace of pain flicker across his face.

Ichigo's scowl grew deeper as they stared each other down. Then the blue eyes hardened, not quite meeting brown. For a moment he thought he saw a flash of childlike sulkiness cross the bluenet's angry face, a pout that at any other moment he might have found endearing for the short time it lasted. It was easy to see that there was an internal debate going on, the stirring of angry memories that were tangled up with wounded pride. Grimmjow finally looked off to the side, not able or willing to even look at Ichigo now. The teen half expected the Espada to shove him away. He clearly didn't want to answer him.

"I hate it," he finally ground out. "It's meaningless." Grimmjow's mind twisted and growled in discomfort. He didn't like this. The way Ichigo could force him to find honesty in himself, search for the truth of things so painful and revealing, and then put it out there for another to see. Grimmjow realized suddenly that he had been doing that all along, confessing to the kid almost since the first day he'd had him up and out of bed in Hueco Mundo. He'd wanted Ichigo to know him. In truth, it frightened him. All of it.

Ichigo blinked and his brows knit softly in mild confusion.

"But I like it," he replied sincerely, for the moment not giving any thought to what he was saying, or even to what Grimmjow had meant. He was a bit surprised by his own words once he realized what he'd said. His response seemed to have the same effect on the bluenet, and Grimmjow blinked several times in bewilderment before a fine blue eyebrow shot up into his hairline in disbelief.

"What? ...Fuck off... You do?"

Grimmjow had been proud of his Six tattoo because it represented his strength, his rank in the Espada, his place amongst the elite. With Aizen and the others gone, and after his embarrassing defeat at the hands of the Shinigami, Grimmjow couldn't stand the thought of it. The mark just didn't mean anything anymore. Why the fuck would Ichigo like his tattoo? Ichigo wouldn't care about Grimmjow's tattoo as a status symbol. So, what other reason was there to like it?

"Yeah. I do."

Confused eyes rested on Ichigo for a moment, unfocused, warring between accepting the warm feeling of a compliment and retreating to the familiar bitterness of an iron clad grudge.

"It's fucking Aizen's...", he hissed, frustrated that with all the thoughts in his head, those three words were all he could get out.

Ah. Now Grimmjow's anger made sense. Ichigo shook his head.

"It doesn't matter who put it there." He moved his right arm, the one that stretched out on the floor and rested over Grimmjow's head, and laced his long fingers in the thick blue hair. He watched the glow of anger begin to fade as he stroked his fingertips hypnotically back and forth through the tangled locks. Back and forth. His nails scraped lightly along Grimmjow's scalp. Back and forth. He could see the tension slipping out of Grimmjow's face, and hear his breathing begin to settle, deep and even. Realizing that his soothing touch could have such a powerful effect made Ichigo feel like something of a snake charmer. Ichigo spoke deliberately but softly, not wanting to reignite the Espada's cooling temper.

"You earned the right to wear that mark over all of those other arrancars because you were easily _that strong_, Grimmjow. And if you're thinking about the other day, you're still incredibly strong. They were four and you were one. I didn't defeat them either. They only stopped because I asked them to and they owed me." Ichigo pulled his left arm carefully out of the slackening grip and continued his exploration of the blackened skin.

"Aizen is gone. The mark of the Sexta is yours now. And it can mean whatever you want it to mean. Maybe..." He let himself trail off. Grimmjow was going to either slag him or outright punch him in the face for being too human and sensitive, and a woman at that, if he continued with what he had been about to say.

Grimmjow hummed in contentment until he realized that the teen wasn't going to finish his sentence. Ichigo's fingers dragging their way through his hair was the best drug he'd ever had. Sake had nothing on this. All the voices had stopped. For the moment, the empty feeling that he was so used to, the one he kept filled with anger, had retreated so far into the background that it was as if it was just gone. And all he could feel instead was warm fingertips and tingling shivers.

"What?", Grimmjow asked as he reluctantly pulled himself part way out of the pleasant daze that Ichigo had put him into.

"Nothing," he murmured. "It's stupid."

"Probably," he said, as his mouth quirked up into a grin. "But tell me anyway." When Ichigo only glared back, he continued roughly. "C'mon Kurosaki. Spit it out." Ichigo still said nothing, and Grimmjow thought about threatening him. But he was entirely too comfortable with the peace right now. Instead, he decided that he might be better off if he tried a different approach.

"I want to hear it," he urged. Ichigo bit his lower lip, then sighed. Grimmjow smirked internally. Bingo.

"Maybe it can be a symbol of..." Ichigo sucked in a breath and expelled the words slowly, along with the air. "... of us."

Grimmjow's eye's widened and flashed from blue to sea-foam green, and his heart charged up his throat as the suggestion wrapped its jaws tightly around his mind and sunk itself into his brain. It sounded like Ichigo wanted them to be together. Stay together. Be a bonded pair. Ichigo really wanted to be with him for the long haul. It shouldn't have sent him into a panic the way it did, because after last night, he knew he wanted to stay with the Shinigami. He just hadn't imagined it actually happening, being so real. So here and now. And yet here it was. _A symbol of us._ In this moment they were going to agree to be something more than just the two separate people that they were. Two souls would become one, acting together, working together, with only good intentions for each other. This was what Grimmjow understood a human relationship to be. He'd just never in a million lifetimes thought he would ever have anything to do with one, other than perhaps to be the one destroying it.

Ichigo breathed a audible sigh of relief and felt a warm rush of satisfaction when, instead of flipping his shit and laughing out loud at him, Grimmjow actually nodded agreeably, adding a low growl to emphasize exactly what he was feeling in return.

"Mmm... yeah. We can definitely do that."

_We._

_We can do that._

Something in the simple words charged Ichigo with a surge of confidence as well as a healthy shot of lust and he was easily as surprised as Grimmjow at the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

"Good. You'll always be the powerful _Sex_-ta to me anyway," he breathed. _Aw shit. Now he'd done it. What a thing to say._ Ah hell. Ichigo knew he was getting to be dangerously lame here, but he couldn't honestly bring himself to care enough to stop. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Ichigo's lips quirked into a sideways grin and he added a bit sheepishly, "Besides, it's kind of bad-ass, you know. And it looks... *ehem*... hot as hell on you."

Without any warning Grimmjow surged forward to press his mouth tightly against Ichigo's and growled in approval, a sound that quickly dissolved into a deep and sexually charged throaty purr. When the bluenet pulled away, his skin was flushed with arousal but his eyes were glassy with exhaustion.

"Can't believe you just said that, Kurosaki," he breathed. "Don't ever say shit like that to me in front of anyone."

Ichigo took a moment to debate Grimmjow before he shrugged and cocked his head.

"Nah. That was just a one time thing. It won't ever happen again."

Grimmjow's shoulders shook slightly and he let his eyes close with a knowing grin on his face. His little orange haired ray of sunshine had a knack for sarcasm, and a devious little mind... j_ust as much of an arrant bastard as Grimmjow._ And fuck, did he like it that way.

Ichigo watched Grimmjow for a moment longer. What he didn't tell the bluenet was that he wanted to run his tongue in endless circles along that well defined Gothic six until the Sexta moaned for him to stop. They'd never get to sleep if he did.

Instead he placed a kiss, chaste and featherlight, on Grimmjow's lips and sighed in quiet contentment. Moments later they were asleep again, neither one able to spare the energy to move until morning, both men dead to the world.


	25. Upside Right

**Chapter Twenty Five: Upside Right**

The Espada's lashes fluttered like butterfly wings over oceans of blue before his eyes finally snapped open, his mind still exploring the fleshy landscape of an amazing dream, one filled with all the delicious heat and sweat and blood his carnal instincts could handle. It took him a moment to realize that it hadn't been a dream, but a memory. It had really happened. And if he kept playing his cards right, he was going to get to do it again. He felt positively giddy. On top of it all, there had been a brief conversation that, though awkward at first, had left Grimmjow feeling valued, respected and even... cared about. He felt like a king.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever been in a better mood.

Fuck, it was a great day to be dead.

A sound to his left drew him out of his reverie and he let his head fall to the side, his tangled mess of blue hair shifting, strands falling from one side to the other across his forehead. He ran a hand through his unruly hair in disgust. He had to do something about that soon. When he wasn't in a battle he actually liked to keep himself well groomed. An organized mess was more his style, and this thatch of greasy, stringy looking shit was past becoming an annoyance. He irritably wiped away the limp strands that had fallen into his eyes, and blinked away the fuzziness of sleep until the indescribable blur next to him morphed into a familiar shape.

It was Grimmjow who woke up to watchful eyes this time. The subject of his sordid musings, Kurosaki Ichigo, greeted him with a lopsided smile, which for some reason the Espada found slightly unsettling.

"Morning, honey."

Ah. There is was. The Espada rubbed the back of one hand across his face to hide his grin, and snorted, before letting it drop with a careless, heavy thump across Ichigo's chest.

"Fucking funny, Kurosaki."

Ichigo's smile grew wider before it faded into something resembling casual concern.

"How are you feeling?"

Feeling? Well, now that was just the question of the day, wasn't it? Feelings had always been easy for Grimmjow in the past. He'd had like six of them. Irritated, angry, murderous, vengeful, amused, and hungry. Now he could add horny, nervous, and confused to that list. Grimmjow closed his eyes and mentally performed a quick internal check before replying, his expression growing slightly perturbed. He didn't know if it was the newly awakened barrage of awkward emotions constantly lurching through him, or just ravenous hunger, but either way, it was fucking nauseating.

"I feel like shit," he stated gruffly. He turned his electric blue eyes up to Ichigo's. "You got anything to eat?"

"Oh." Ichigo's brain stuttered under his gaze. "You're hungry?" God. He was going to have to join Mensa soon if he kept coming up with all these brilliant responses. Ichigo pulled himself out of the warm nest of blankets that covered them both, displacing the bluenet's hand as he sat up.

"Mmm," was the Sexta's quiet response.

Ichigo blinked. Well, that was a nice change from the surefire, '_Why the hell would I ask you if you had anything to eat if I wasn't hungry, idiot_?' rejoinder that Ichigo probably would have gotten just days ago. The Espada seemed to be trying to be pleasant. He usually said whatever was on his mind, regardless of whether or not it was remotely appropriate. Maybe Ichigo had been a little off target and emotional last night when he'd thought that Grimmjow didn't have a softer side. He could hope couldn't he? It's not that he wanted Grimmjow to change drastically. He just couldn't see himself being on guard twenty four seven. He didn't have the energy for it, and having the Espada learn to self sooth and cool his heels from time to time would be much easier on both of them in the long run.

Ichigo rubbed his stomach as it summed up its own demands in a broken, melodic growl at the mere mention of food. He caught the movement of the Espada's eyes out of his peripheral. His cheeks flushed faintly, and he scratched his fingers through the scruffy mess of orange hair on the back of his head.

"Heh. Ya, I guess we both need to eat."

Was it his imagination or had Grimmjow's eyes actually tracked the entire path of the sound as it travelled down through his abdomen, towards his navel and beyond? He suppressed a delicious shiver, and tried to focus on the conversation.

Ichigo was no where near comfortable with this feeling yet, the hungry wanting, and the almost consuming need to be with the Espada. It was like he'd kept part of himself in a cage all these years, and left it there, ignored, denied, wanting and neglected. And now it had finally been unleashed.

Ichigo's libido was alive and restless. It reminded him of the time, not so long ago, when he'd first had to open the taps and release his full spiritual pressure in order to fight off a Gillian in the park. He hadn't been able to control the cascade of energy that had rushed out of him. Ishida had saved his ass by bleeding off the excess energy before it consumed him. That had been a scary moment. It had shocked (almost) everybody that Ichigo had even been capable of calling up so much raw power. Urahara had theorized that a young Ichigo had probably been so surprised when he'd first awakened his spiritual pressure, that he'd reflexively shut the tap off.

Now, once again, that tap was wide open and Ichigo couldn't control it. Only, the results of _this_ awakening and all its requisite feelings were distinctly more pleasant.

Still, it was just so very opposite to the way he was used to feeling about the blue-haired arrancar. He still remembered all too clearly when the only time he had been eager to run into Grimmjow was when he had meant to kill him, and now...

It had taken six weeks, just six goddamn weeks to turn everything upside down.

Too perfectly upside down.

Last night Grimmjow had given him the most amazing feeling he'd ever had, but their union had happened so fast. It made him wonder. Was it all just a knee-jerk reaction to such a close brush with death, a way to cope with the intense trauma? He wished he could say right now where it left them.

Combatants with benefits? Friends? Lovers? An actual couple? Did Grimmjow actually want to be with him? Or was Ichigo just a stepping stone as the Espada explored his burgeoning range of emotions? Shit. He needed to stop thinking like some infatuated school girl, and get a fucking grip.

Grimmjow had said that _Ichigo_ was making him feel things, Ichigo. And that he wanted Ichigo to show him what life was like. And it was Ichigo who had given Grimmjow that incredible hard-on, no one else. He suddenly had to fight to keep the stupid grin from blossoming across his face. Well crap. He really was fucked, now wasn't he? He suddenly realized that Grimmjow was still watching him, waiting on the right side of patiently, albeit with one eyebrow raised, the picture of annoyed amusement, for Ichigo to continue while he had so obviously spaced out. What were they talking about again? Oh, right.

"Actually, Urahara-san left us a note."

"A note?" Grimmjow repeated in astonishment and surprise, his voice rising in volume, eyes suddenly wild with anger. "You mean he's not even fucking here? !"

Ichigo winced almost imperceptibly. The arrancar had nearly snapped a rod. And over what? Ichigo was lost. The Espada pierced Ichigo with an affronted glare, mouth parted, upper lip climbing, and bitey fangs appearing as if on cue.

Grimmjow's mind raced in several different directions, and he squeezed his fist tight as if pulling on some internal reigns to slow himself down enough so he could think clearly. He realized that all along he hadn't sensed any other presences nearby, but he'd been wholly preoccupied with fucking Ichigo into the table last night to give it much thought. He felt himself stir at the thought. Dammit. He needed to get some self control or he'd be a walking hard-on every time he thought of Ichigo. Being naked was one thing, but sporting a Espada-sized stiffy in front of others was a bit much.

"Uh, no, he's not." Ichigo tried to continue as if the Espada wasn't about to take his head off. "Everybody left yesterday morning, once Urahara thought you were strong enough that it would be safe for him to leave you. He wanted to give us some space. He said he thought we might have some things to work out." Ichigo turned his face away and rubbed the front of his leg through the bed covers as a distraction. "Heh. Guess he was right." Ichigo face warmed a little and he glanced at the Espada, then frowned slightly. Grimmjow didn't appear to have registered Ichigo's last comment at all.

And he hadn't. Not one word. Even the bluenet's momentary lust had faded, and now he was too busy reeling from the insult of being left unattended. He was still an Espada, Goddammit. He was as dangerous and unpredictable as they came, injuries be fucked. This Urahara guy was either being highly disrespectful or he was a complete idiot, or both. Did Ichigo think they were going to be safe here, in a house run by a lunatic?

"Che. What kind of nut is this guy? He just leaves an Espada in his home and goes for a fucking walk?" There was venom in his words and his eyes gleamed with the hot embers of a familiar blue inferno.

Ichigo rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed three deep circles into his temples with his thumb and forefinger, and sighed in irritation. He could just see it coming. Grimmjow was going to turn this into a reason to hate Urahara, like he did with everybody he met. The stupid bastard would turn over every rock in a quarry if he thought he might find something hidden beneath one that would offend him. Grimmjow's biggest flaw was that he saw himself in everybody. He made an art form out of being an ignorant, callous prick most of the time. And in any give situation, if it's what _he_ would have done, then he just assumed others thought the same way.

Ichigo was going to do his best to steer the Espada away from his usual routine of alienating everybody around him. He felt like it was his job now, to teach the bluenet how to deal with people in ways that wouldn't leave a gruesome trail of bodies and bring the Shinigami down on his back. Well, it _was_ his job. It had been part of Ichigo's promise to Grimmjow, and his agreement with Urahara.

Well, step one was obviously going to be for Ichigo to redirect the unruly bluenet whenever he decided to throw a butt-hurt tantrum. Ichigo's smartest tactic here would be to use the soft approach, he decided. Though he couldn't foresee that happening for long, not when his own temper, once roused, easily rivalled Grimmjow's. Kurosaki Ichigo wasn't exactly mister calm, cool, and collected himself at the best of times, a thought that actually darkened his mood a little. Oh, what cruel irony.

Ichigo gave a light shrug of his shoulders and the side of his mouth curved into a small smile.

"Yeah. He's pretty nuts," he offered sincerely.

Grimmjow snorted and his lip curled up, about to add his two hundred and two cents to the teen's admission.

"But he's strong and he's brilliant," Ichigo cut in. "Don't underestimate him, Grimmjow. He's done a lot for me, _and_ for the people I care about," Ichigo gave Grimmjow a very direct look, and the Espada's lip dropped back down. "I trust him and.. and I guess he trusts me."

The Sexta's intense scowl lightened a fraction before it finally gave way to a thoughtful look, one that showed Ichigo the generous depth to which Grimmjow was actually absorbing the teen's words.

"I see," he said quietly.

_Trust? Hmmm. _So maybe this time it wasn't about Grimmjow being looked down on. Okay. Fine. He'd give Ichigo this one. It sounded like Ichigo really looked up to this ex-Shinigami, like he really thought Urahara was a good guy. But trust his little ray of sunshine here to find the good in everyone. Ichigo had to know that people weren't all kittens and puppies and shit. Every coin had two sides, and Grimmjow wasn't about to throw all his trust into a stranger just because Ichigo said so. Those fucking Shinigami were supposed to be Ichigo's friends and look what had happened there. Fuck. Trusting people was definitely not a part of Grimmjow's survival plan. Not now, and not in the near future. He would strike first next time. Whoever crossed him wouldn't live long enough to regr...

"Oy, Grimmjow. Are you listening?"

Ichigo's voice snapped at him, jerking him out of his darkening thoughts, and he grudgingly let them sink back down into the cavernous space in his mind which was always kept reserved for his endless supply of nebulous emotions.

"Mmm, yeah," he replied, trying to pull himself back onto stable ground.

"Urahara will be gone for another two days. He said we should help ourselves to whatever we need, and that you would especially need to eat." Ichigo rubbed his chin and glanced at the ceiling. "I guess he means that since you lost so much reatsu..."

Grimmjow cut him off sharply, going from mildly thoughtful to dangerously irritated in the space of a heartbeat, and only just managing to hang onto his composure by his fingernails.

"He _means_ I got my ass kicked," he seethed through clenched teeth, "and my spiritual pressure is very low... alright? So, shut up." He added the "bitch" semi-covertly, just under his breath. He didn't need to hear about how badly he'd lost from anybody but himself. And he didn't need a punch to the face either.

Grimmjow blatantly ignored the not so covert "screw you" that was openly lobbed back his way. It would happily do just as much to ruffle Ichigo if he ignored him. Instead, he held up his hand and studied it, flexing his weathered fingers, intent on moving the two of them past this irritating conversation as quickly as possible.

"I'd say it's at less than half," he groused. "A few dozen Hollows, or maybe a Menos, would go along way to restoring it."

"Oh." Ichigo frowned.

It wasn't in Grimmjow's best interest to do that anymore, devour souls, not if he wanted to stay here. Not if he wanted to stay with Ichigo. Hollows couldn't be released to Soul Society if Grimmjow ate them. Only a Shinigami's zanpakuto could do that. It put Ichigo in a rather awkward position, especially after he'd spent so much time arguing with Ishida over the Quincy's method of destroying Hollow's completely. Besides, if the Espada was munching on Hollows in his town, it could potentially draw unwanted attention. And that was the last thing they needed right now. Of course, Grimmjow knew that. Right?

"As it is," Grimmjow continued, as he rolled his eyes in a _'don't bother telling me 'cause i already know'_ kind of way, "I don't see any Menos around here. So I guess I'm stuck using food as a substitute... for now." There was a healthy dose of emphasis on the 'for now' and Ichigo fought off a scowl. He couldn't expect Grimmjow to miraculously change all his ways overnight. That was asking too much right now, and Ichigo knew better than anybody else when to pick his battles with the arrancar. Besides, it was usually Grimmjow who picked them.

Grimmjow continued his pseudo lecture in an almost condescending tone, mostly because he hated what he was saying more than anything. He was in a fight to keep his pride in tact, if there was anything even left of it that was salvageable

"But human food isn't as pure as Hollow, as you know..." Grimmjow began. Ichigo perked up as the bluenet trailed off and looked through Ichigo, squinting as if he were remembering something important.

Ichigo stayed silent as he noticed something begin to offset the Sexta's hard expression, as if something was slowly dawning on him. Ichigo suddenly brightened. He knew just what was going through the Espada's head, and he wanted so badly to jump up and point at Grimmjow and yell "Ha!" He had to physically restrain himself from doing just that, and instead he met the bluenet's returning gaze head on.

Grimmjow had remembered that he actually did like human food. Some of it quite a lot.

"So... you got anything to eat or not?" Grimmjow huffed. His tone was still gruff but his mind was on something else now, something good, and his normally cool eyes had softened just enough to allow a hint of warmth to seep into them.

It was that tiny glint of heat in those arctic blues that caused the teen to forget all the worries that had been busily weaving themselves into a tangled, thready mess throughout his mind. They still had time to themselves for a bit, before the world caught up to them, and they needed to enjoy it for as long as they could. A sly look crept across Ichigo's face.

"Fish and sweet bean paste?" he offered casually.

Grimmjow's eyes sharpened, and his full attention locked onto Ichigo like a starving falcon, hungry and hopeful. Rapturous.

Ichigo nodded and grinned in appreciation at the Espada. That was a _reeeal_ good look on him.

"We'll find something," the teen said warmly. He was feeling the stirrings of arousal, and the idea of crawling on top of Grimmjow and running his tongue across the raised edges of his large pecs that peeked above his bandages was beginning to sound more appetizing than any food he could think of. But... Grimmjow needed food. And shit, those bandages. They had to take care of that first. Ichigo wasn't going to be the cause of any more pain for the injured Espada if he could help it. When they fought again, yes. But not right now.

Ichigo reached for his hakama and pushed himself up halfway onto his feet before suddenly wincing and almost falling back down as he choked back a cry of surprise. His libido vanished in an instant, and thoughts of hot, wanton sex quickly took a backseat as he realized how much moving and walking was going to actually _hurt_! He was sore in places he didn't even want to think about. And for the first time he realized that the front of his hips were going to bruise vibrant colors from where he'd been bent over and repeatedly slammed against the edge of the table. God dammit, they needed to think these things through next time!

_Next time?_ Pain or not, he very much liked the sound of that.

The Espada watched as Ichigo cringed and stayed hunched over for a long moment before very slowly straightening himself up. The kid was in obvious pain. That was definitely Grimmjow's fault, and he was suddenly proud as shit about it. Grimmjow eyed his lean, sinewy body as Ichigo stood there naked, facing purposely away from the bluenet while he tied up his sash, out of some sort of modesty... a human habit, he reasoned. He had a lot to learn about humans, about Ichigo still, and he was a little surprised to find that on some level he really was looking forward to it.

Grimmjow gingerly pushed himself up from his bed and stood slowly. He was shaking and unsteady, every muscle in his body stiff and aching, but he was still on two feet and under his own power. Not fucking much to be proud of if you asked him. He braced one arm against the wall for support, and grumbled to himself as he reached down carefully and pulled on his own hakamas, facing Ichigo directly as he did. He wondered why the hell he was even bothering with them, since apparently there wasn't anybody but Kurosaki around to offend with his nudity. Not that the teen seemed in the least bit offended last night. He smirked to himself, giving the black sash a final tug so that his hakamas sat loosely, barely slung over his hips, low enough in fact to actually _be_ considered offensive should anyone see it.

When he looked up, Ichigo was staring at him from the doorway with a particularly shocked look of disbelief on his face. Grimmjow's eyes flicked left and right as he studied Ichigo's expression, suddenly feeling pinned and nervous, and not liking the feeling one fucking bit.

"What?" he urged. He'd seen everything last night, right? Right? What was this fucking look for?

"You mean... what we did... we... _that..._ was at _half_ your spiritual pressure?" Ichigo blurted.

Grimmjow blinked, a long silence hanging around in the air, before a sly smile finally began to take form and slide up his face, reaching a hunter's playful blue eyes.

"Heh. Just you wait, Ichigo... unless, of course, you don't think you can _handle_ me."

Ichigo blushed furiously when he realized what _he_ had actually said out loud, and the things _they_ were saying to each other without the benefit of the inhibition reducing effects of a raging flood of hormones. And the look on Grimmjow's face... was just... dirty. Ichigo pulled himself up to his full height and straightened his bare shoulders at the blatant challenge.

"Blow me," he retorted, scowling from behind his flushed face, trying to look dignified and not achieving it in the slightest.

Grimmjow's smile turned ten shades of hungry. Ichigo looked fucking adorable like that.

"Mmmm. Okay. But I wanna eat first. Then we can work on dessert."

Though the Espada grinned broadly as he watched Ichigo light up all over again in a vibrant display, his own cheeks were tinged a healthy shade of pink as well.

Seems they'd had no trouble doing it, but talking about it was another thing altogether.


	26. Return Of Urahara

I decided to go ahead and post this chapter. I know. Shortest chapter ever.  
>This was originally the last chapter.<br>Since it's done, I figured meh, might as well go ahead and let you read it, ya? Am now working on fixing up the next chapter. Thought we could use a bit of humour now. Enjoy. JB

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Six: Return Of Urahara<strong>

He knew before he entered the shoten that his guests were gone.

And he knew with equal certainty that they would be back soon.

The Espada would not be fully healed yet, and he wouldn't be able to suppress his spiritual pressure for long outside of the safety of the shoten's shields. There was still much to discuss tonight, though it was apparent that he would have house guests for some time.

He doubted Ishin Kurosaki would take kindly to an Espada living in his house, especially if Ichigo exposed the true nature of their relationship. Even Ishin wouldn't be able to withstand a bomb like that. If either of them had even figured it out yet. Urahara had seen it the moment Ichigo-kun had appeared at the shoten, in the possessive way he had cradled the broken Espada, and in the un-shed tears that had brightened his eyes when Urahara had failed to revive the Sexta.

The former Shinigami Captain smiled at his two small charges Jinta and Uryu, as they went straight about their duties, cleaning and organizing the contents of Urahara's candy store. What had begun as an exercise in polite discretion had actually turned into an enjoyable little adventure of their own. And it had been a pleasant change from the everyday of the shop for all of them.

Urahara clattered noisily on wooden sandals as he made his way down the long hall of the shoten's living quarters. He stopped at an open doorway and peered into the guest room. Two beds were neatly made, with crisp, fresh sheets it seemed. Everything in the spars room seemed to be in order, the beds, the table, the clock that sat on the floor. Nothing to indicate any violence or unannounced visitors to upset the sanctity of his little abode.

He continued down the hall. Always curious, sometimes even to the point of spying, Urahara found the old sheets crumpled in the bottom of the hamper at the end of hall. He smirked. It was the nature of the beast. He supposed he would do the wash himself, save the others from exposure to the unpleasant business. He was Urahara Kisuke after all, and dealing with dirty affairs such as these didn't phase him in the slightest. He took a second look before replacing the lid tightly over the hamper. Ichigo probably meant to hide the evidence of their deeds way down there out of sight, and he'd be mortified beyond words if he knew Urahara had done his dirty laundry. And since they were likely going to be staying there for awhile...

On second thought, perhaps he'd introduce Ichigo to the washing machine as soon as he was back.

He walked back down the hall to the open bedroom door and took in the room of his two young guests again. Urahara didn't entirely approve of the union. It had its dangers. But if Kurosaki was happy... he assumed he had finally figured it out himself if the musky scent of sex on the sheets was any indicator... then that was at least something good.

And when Soul Society found out, well they would be in an instant uproar about it. He smiled widely under the brim of his hat. It wasn't that the situation wasn't going to be volatile and dangerous for the both of the young hybrids. It was that seeing soul society get so bent out of shape whenever they couldn't make things go there own way and bend to their archaic rules... it was so predictable that it was amusing.

A lot of people were going to have strong opinions about Kurosaki Ichigo's choice in companions. It was only natural. But Urahara wasn't about to appoint himself governor when it came to matters of the heart. Truthfully, he didn't even imagine himself qualified. It was Kurosaki-san's decision after all. And he would be the one to bear the brunt of any fallout.

The more he thought about it, the more he understood their relationship. They were two sides of the same coin, both warriors, powerful combatants, and both a little bit shell shocked and inevitably lost in the destructive wake of the war. It had not been unnatural that, in the time they spent isolated together, should they not destroy each other, they would eventually come to realize these things and seek out support from one another.

He had in fact seen stranger couples. And sadder couples still, those who were not quite couples. Everywhere he looked, they were there. Renji and Rukia, Shinji and Hiyori, himself and Yourichi. Love without the act of it. At least Kurosaki-san had the guts to admit how he felt and pursue what he really wanted. He envied him a little bit.

Urahara closed the door to the guest room and strode down the hall towards the kitchen. As he entered the spacious room, he noticed a pad of paper on the kitchen table. There was a note, and beside it, a pencil that had been snapped in two.

_Warina, Urahara-san._

_Back tonight._

_Will replace._

_Ichigo and Gim Grinj GrimMJOw~~~ ~ ~ ~_

Urahara laughed out loud at the obvious effort Grimmjow had put into adding his name to the note. Intrigued, he realized he'd never even wondered if any of the Espada could read or write. Well, the Sexta could is seemed, though not well, but he probably didn't have much need for it. Did Aizen make them learn? If he did, then why? Or was it just a subconscious memory? How much did the Espada remember from his life as a human? How many of his abilities came from latent memories? So many questions. Perhaps he would bring the subject up after dinner.

He hummed to himself and glanced again at the note, unsure exactly what Ichigo had been referring to, and quite frankly a bit concerned. He obviously hadn't meant that he would replace the pencil. That would be silly. Urahara's mouth formed an "oh" shape as he rubbed his scruffy chin in concern. He hoped dearly that the boys hadn't broken something expensive. It seemed like the shoten was always in a constant state of disrepair since Ichigo had come into their lives.

He had the feeling he'd find out soon enough, but still he puzzled over the message as he went to the cupboard to put on some tea. He opened the door. Except for the tea, the cupboard was bare. He opened the rest, one after the other, after the other. All bare. And the fridge. Virtually empty. The boys had cleaned him out.

The only item left behind was a can of cat food (the one he kept for Yourichi when she had the craving), opened but untouched, with a note attached.

_Grimmjow says, 'do you have tuna flavor?' Chicken's not his thing._

An amused smile stretched out across his face. Well, it seemed that not only had Kurosaki and his guest developed quite an appetite... and for more than just food... but Kurosaki-kun had suddenly grown a sense of humour as well. Good. It was about time. He'd always been much too serious for someone his age. Perhaps, Urahara thought, something refreshingly good might come from his relationship with the ex-Espada after all.

Urahara took the can and the note and placed them on the table for Grimmjow to find when they returned. He had a feeling that the arrancar had smelled the contents of the can, and refused the food intended for felines, and was probably not aware of Kurosaki's little note.

There would be mayhem.

But there was plenty of space beneath the shoten for that.

Urahara traced the rim of his striped hat with two slender fingers and pulled it low over his forehead, shading his eyes.

Who was he to judge? Nobody.

But that wasn't to say he wouldn't interfere a little.


	27. Brains Meets Brawn

**I love this chapter. Or the idea of it anyway. It could still be improved, but I'm tired and I couldn't resist posting. If you find mistakes PM me. Junichiblue.**

**Note: 'Yare. Yare.' means 'My. My.'**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Seven: Brains Meets Brawn<strong>

The fallout from Ichigo's playful jab proved to be everything the shopkeeper imagined, and more.

It was high entertainment.

At least it was, from Urahara's perspective. Grimmjow would have begged to differ. Colorfully.

The Sexta Espada grunted as he brushed past Ichigo who scowled at him over the jagged rim of the paper grocery bags that were balanced in his arms, and padded wearily through the doorway of the Shoten. He was annoyed and exhausted. His strength had still not yet returned, and he was content with the idea of eating, (because how else was he going to regain his power), and then giving his full middle finger to the retarded world he'd just experienced and just crashing for awhile.

Grimmjow dropped the one bag he was carrying onto the floor of the hall, where it landed with a suspicious crunch, and stretched his arms, staunchly ignoring the irritable "Oy, not there. In the kitchen, lazy ass. And did I just hear something break?", that came from somewhere behind him.

The Espada groaned and sighed as he shook himself out like a dog, clean hair shifting, but in the end adhering to its usual form, a stylized confusion of blue. It was a relief to finally be able to release his recovering spiritual pressure. He had kept it tightly contained during their trip through the heart of Karakura to Ichigo's home. Drawing out more Shinigami at this point would have been catastrophic, and Grimmjow had only managed to keep it suppressed by the skin of his teeth after meeting the elder Kurosaki.

What a fucking whack job.

Never had Grimmjow felt quite so unwelcome. And he was a Hollow, for fuck's sake. Nobody liked him. Christ, the Shinigami Captains had given him a warmer greeting.

The bluenet hadn't expected the guy to be happy about meeting him, and frankly he didn't really give a shit who liked him and who didn't. He hadn't thought he should go though, since the kid's family would probably want to spend time with him, and he had tried to argue his way out of it but Ichigo had insisted that it would be better to just get it over with and be honest with his father. Apparently, they had kept far too many secrets from one another already.

Frankly though, the Espada was interested in seeing where a guy like Kurosaki came from, and he wondered if it were possible there could be more like him. But that was as far as his curiosity went. Even before today, Grimmjow definitely did _not_ see himself being into family shit. And after meeting Ishin, Ichigo was nuts if he thought Grimmjow was ever going back there again. Ishin and Grimmjow were going to throw down and tear it up if they saw each other again. There was no doubt about it in Grimmjow's mind. And Ichigo would definitely get pissy about it if they did.

And don't even get him started on their trip to the store to get food. He would never have gone at all if he'd know Ichigo planned on dragging him into the tenth level of hell. The teen had explained about money and stores and lineups before they got there, but it hadn't made the experience any more palatable for the unamused bluenet. He'd dragged behind Ichigo with a sharp scowl on his face and his hands jammed into his pockets, a precaution, lest he decide to start ceroing people, or better yet, rip out their hearts.

There were people _everywhere_... babies crying, loudspeakers going, phones ringing, carts bumping cans off corner displays. His feline senses were being bombarded, his short fuse stimulated in the worst ways, and the tension was building in his gritted jaw so deep he didn't think he'd have any molars left by the end of it all. Several people had even run into him with their carts, which had his fingers twitching inside his pockets, but he'd kept his mouth shut and simply watched with _some_ amusement as they stupidly inspected the wheels of their carts with confused expressions before eventually heading off down the isle.

To think that he had once been like "them".

It only took a few minutes before the bluenet's nerves were completely shot. It was a strange sensation for one such as Grimmjow, who was used to sensing spiritual pressure. The people were like ghosts to him. It was like they were there, but they weren't. He could touch them and he could see them, but they seemed like empty vessels, vacant shells. Being around them was like rolling in shit. These people were clinging to the bottom rung of the human race. They were in the presence of a powerful being and they couldn't even see...

And that's when his world had brightened a little.

It dawned on him that none of these inferior beings could see Grimmjow. He was a ghost after all. The moment he'd realized that, he had put an end to all of the noise and chaos of the large and busy supermarket. He reached into Ichigo's shopping cart as they waited at the wrong end of a long line and held up a can of something or other which gained a few people's attention. Then he grabbed a whole fish and swam it through the air over his head.

The predictable moment of pandemonium was a small price to pay for the peace that followed.

Ichigo had simply stood there gripping the cart fiercely and thrown him an admonishing look. The Espada wore a self satisfied expression despite the glare he was receiving, even though the idiot didn't even thank him when they hadn't had to wait in line. Ichigo had laid cash on the empty teller's counter and they'd walked out of the abandoned store without anyone so much as noticing them.

The teen had grudgingly carried all the food as they casually made their way back to the Shoten under the declining heat of the late afternoon sun. He had grumbled about not needing a repeat performance out on the streets. Ichigo only finally thrust a bag at the arrancar once they reached the shop so that he could dig around in his pocket for the keys to unlock the door. The Espada had grown fed up of waiting and tried the door anyway. To Ichigo's surprise it had been unlocked, and Grimmjow had shrugged and pushed his way past the shorter male.

They were home and Grimmjow hadn't killed a single person. As shitty as some parts of the day had been, he had to count it as a win.

He blinked at the darkness inside the building. His eyes ached along with the rest of his body, but he ignored all of it as he scanned the innards of the building that were within in his field of view for any hidden dangers before proceeding further in. It took him a brief second to adjust to the lower level of light. The mild relief that came with it was welcome. An image of home flickered in his mind, the rolling sandscape, the soft white light of the crescent moon, and silence that seemed to stretch on for endless miles. The world he knew best, was dark and quiet and monochromatic.

There was _nothing_ monochromatic about this world, especially in the sun. The last time he'd been here, he'd been so utterly fixated on finding Kurosaki and beating the shit out of him that he'd hadn't paid the world around him much attention. He was always like that when he got too focused on his opponent in battle. He'd lose sight of his surroundings. It was the reason so many people were able to keep sneaking up on him time after irritating time. Now that he'd spent an entire day in the living world with Kurosaki as his guide instead of his prey, he'd had the chance to slow it all down and take everything in. And he'd realized something. In the sun, this world was full of so many damn colours, it hurt.

The bluenet grunted and grabbed the plastic bag by its twin handles, letting it hang off of hooked fingers as he ambled towards the kitchen. It only took a moment for Grimmjow's irritable mood to reach new heights as he moved deeper into the Shoten's living space.

What was that ungodly smell?

The arrancar had lifted his nose into the air and grimaced in disgust at the rancid odour before he'd even rounded the corner of the kitchen's entrance-way. When he did, he was met with a somewhat unassuming man in a striped hat and shabby clothing who was sitting at the table, quietly drinking tea of all fucking things. That, and the ultra relaxed demeanour of the stranger reminded the Espada all at once of Aizen, and he actively bristled, his ears and hair almost visibly flattening against his head. This new, yet distantly familiar presence made him instantly wary, and it had distracted him from launching into a litany of complaints over the fetid smell that permeated his sensitive nose.

"Who the hell are you?", he demanded, his voice steady and sounding somewhat of his trademark boredom, but now also edged with suspicion.

For all outwards appearances, Grimmjow remained cool, but his weariness was all but forgotten, his eyes sharpened, assessing, watching for the subtle signs of aggression, the tiny tells of body language. The man wasn't a Shinigami. He didn't wear the uniform, and he didn't seem to posses a zanpakuto. And his spiritual pressure was for shit. Like all the other sad sacks of skin in this town, it was almost undetectable. Still, the man only had to give him a reason and the Espada would end him before he even knew what was happening. Grimmjow would not be so easy to take down again.

The stranger responded to the bluenet's query by setting his cup down neatly onto the saucer on the table and placing his open palm flat against the pale skin of his exposed chest, his face stricken.

"You mean you don't know who I am?" he complained, his voicing shooting up into a whiny tenor. "I'm hurt!"

Grimmjow clutched the bag in his hand tightly as he balled up his fist.

This man was pouting. It was disgusting.

He might not be a threat but the world would be a much less irritating place without him in it. The Espada's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he considered for a moment ceroing him where he sat, but he figured there would be so much complaining that it wouldn't be worth it. Instead, he'd been about to call back to Ichigo, who was lagging behind, to ask who this asshole was, but something on the table had caught his eye.

Despite the anxiety he felt in the presence of the man, he took several steps forward towards the table and squinted. It was the can of shit he had bullied Ichigo into opening for him, despite Ichigo's assurances that he wouldn't want to eat that, as it wasn't made for humans. He hadn't cared at the time. He was hungry, dammit. But then he'd smelled it. Death smelled better.

The can wasn't the issue though. It was the little piece of paper attached to it that made the Espada's green slashes part ways with his eyebrows.

Only moments after seeing the can on the table, and glaring at the note with increasing agitation, he'd dropped the bag of food and rounded on Kurosaki with an enraged snarl and a line of sharp teeth that itched to tear into flesh.

Ichigo had only just set foot into the kitchen when Grimmjow spun around and erupted like a super-volcano. The teen dropped his bags and raised his arms up in defence, stuttering a confused, "What? What?", as he backed up swiftly and tried to piece together the origins of the arrancars impending murderous rampage.

The bone mask and green slashes seemed to jump out at Ichigo from beneath the angry azure eyes that were near blackened with blood lust.

A moment of true panic seized the orange haired teen as he realized that he was in his human body. One good hit from an Espada would be enough to kill most humans instantly. As enraged as he was, Grimmjow wouldn't realize that right now. Ichigo took one more step back through the kitchen doorway and into the hall.

_What was this bullshit_, thought Grimmjow. Kurosaki was going to pull crap on him and then run away from the fight he had to know was coming? For that alone, he deserved all the pain he was going to feel and more. The blue haired arrancar's muscles coiled, then released.

"Grimmjow! Wait!", Ichigo yelled.

The moment Grimmjow got a hold of him, he was done.

Ichigo had to even the playing field, fast. He jammed his hand into his pocket and produced his substitute Shinigami badge, slamming it into his chest, and exploded out of his body before Grimmjow's surprised, but still furious eyes. There was no talking to the thick-headed Espada when he got like this. Ichigo reached back for Zangetsu hoping to intercept the hit with his sword, just as Grimmjow collided into him, one Hollow fist pulled back to deliver a blow that would send Ichigo into next week.

In no time at all, Grimmjow had found himself confused and grimacing in pain, trapped at the wrong end of Urahara Kisuke's cane, pinned solidly to the wall by his forehead. Any harder and he would have been nailed to it. And Kurosaki was suddenly far out of Grimmjow's reach, much to the Espada's increasing ire. Ichigo was laying flat on his back across the kitchen, sprawled on the floor amidst a pile of broken wood, thrown down by the very same skilled hand.

Urahara sighed internally. He rarely intervened in other people battles unless the situation truly warranted it. This time it most definitely did. They were about to go at it in his kitchen and they could easily level the place in no time at all. They were two big, dumb boys and it was clearly going to take a strong, firm hand to keep them both in line.

Well, it was the arrancar's first lesson in cause and effect. And a nice refresher for Kurosaki.

"Yare. Yare_. _You _are_ a hot-headed one aren't you, Grimmjow-kun?"

Grimmjow snarled and tried to lunge forward, caring little in the heat of his temper for the deep round bruise he was going to be sporting in the middle of his forehead if he continued to resist. Fuck that. Grimmjow resisted everything. He pushed forward and then blinked in confusion as he felt his movement almost completely restricted. He felt like he was sludging through miles of wet concrete. He struggled and swore before he finally fell silent, breathing hard, face hot, and a murderous sapphire glare boring holes in his captor.

"Grimmjow-kun, it's nice to finally meet you. I can see why Ichigo is so... _taken_.. with you." Urahara's eyes were shaded under the large lip of his hat, his face composed and deadly serious even thought the tone of his voice was mockingly light.

"You do know that Kurosaki-san was just having some fun with you, don't you, Grimmjow-kun?

A low growling sound was the only response the shopkeeper received, and it didn't phase him in the slightest.

"You have to learn to take these things in stride. It's all part of living in the human world."

The man's tone was the epitome of condescension. Grimmjow was spitting mad. He snarled wordlessly and surged forward, almost making it a whole foot from the wall this time. Urahara's eyes widened fractionally before he applied a bit more force to his cane. Grimmjow jerked as he felt more abrupt pressure to the front of his skull, and he winced from the sharp sting as the back of his head met the wall again, harder this time, cracking the structure beneath the plaster. It was a clear message. Know you're place.

_So, this is how it was, eh? _As first meetings went, this one was leaving a hell of an impression on the arrancar. It wasn't so much the hard cane digging into his forehead, or his head smacking soundly against the wall that was the problem. It was the crushing spiritual pressure that was binding him in place so easily. He still wasn't at his best, but this... the ease with which this man could restrain him... it was fucking insulting.

He hadn't even sensed a thing from the strangely dressed man as he'd entered the kitchen. His tired green pants and top looked older than dirt. He was scruffy and unkempt. And the hat. Grimmjow didn't have words for that hat. The guy looked like a bum, or an escapee from some circus, not a former Shinigami captain. This could _not_ be the guy Ichigo had talked about. Well, whoever he was, this asshole had obviously learned to harness the _awesome_ power of the cane.

Urahara calmly nodded towards the wooden pile of rubble that had once been his kitchen table.

"You'll have to pay for that," the blond explained in a tone that brooked no argument.

No argument from anyone but Grimmjow. The Espada bared razor sharp canines as he sucked in a deep breath then pushed it back up his throat in a low, vibrating growl that said, _fuck you,_ more clearly than the words themselves ever could. The man in the hat and sandals remained unfazed, and it only served to push the arrancar's rage up another notch.

"When you break something in this world, arrancar, you replace it. Those are the rules."

Grimmjow was speechless. And he was running out of growls. Who did this fucker think he was? And who in the fuck did he think he was dealing with? White hot rage boiled to the surface, spitting and hissing, seeking release, and a red glow began to grow inside Grimmjow's raised palm. Dumb fuck deserved to die ten times over. He hadn't even tried to properly restrain Grimmjow's hands. Spiritual pressure alone wasn't going to stop the Sexta's signature attack. The Espada hoped he had enjoyed his miserable life, because it was about to come to a very hot, sticky end. Grimmjow was going to cero his his face off in three, two...

Urahara whispered a quiet spell, barely a few words, and Grimmjow's forearms slammed up against the wall beside his head, his wrists and hands bound by an elegant string of beaded lights which instantly tightened around his fingers. He couldn't even open his fists, and the heat from the trapped cero was building exponentially, making his hand sweat and his skin begin to burn and smoke.

_Fuck_.

Reluctantly, he shut it down, drawing his power back into himself, but not without taking some damage to the skin inside of his hand.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to release you until you've calmed down, and you can assure me that you won't attack Kurosaki-san again, or myself," he explained levelly, adding a small nod at the end.

The bluenet glared back at the blond. Like fuck he was going to promise that. The blond simply held his gaze with irritating calm, as a painfully long moment passed and it became clearer and clearer that the stranger wasn't going to fold. Reluctantly, Grimmjow let his gaze fall slightly, a display of acquiescence to add to his verbal response of "Che." He was actually somewhat surprised when he felt the pressure begin to lift, half expecting the stranger to continue to taunt him since he seemed to derive such great pleasure from it.

"So, Grimmjow-kun," the blond cooed, "Do you think you could kindly refrain from destroying my home... and yours?" Urahara raised a commanding eyebrow beneath the shadow of his hat. It was unseen by the bluenet, but somehow he just knew it was there. _Wait._

"Ah?", he responded intelligently. _His_ home? What the? This really was the famous Urahara then? This asshole? Ichigo's friend?

The orange head sure knew how to pick 'em. _Oy. Wait a minute. _Grimmjow shut that line of thought down immediately.

So, this was Urahara? And despite their less than best first impressions of each other, this guy was still offering Grimmjow a home? And all he had to do was not destroy it? Well, shit. Piece of cake.

Somewhere behind Urahara, Ichigo finally gathered up his limbs and managed to pick himself up off the floor. Then he stepped into the Espada's line of sight, visible over Urahara's left shoulder. As he stood there brushing himself off, and ineffectually raking his fingers through an explosion of orange hair, his mouth slowly pulled up into quite possibly _thee_ most insincere smile Grimmjow had ever seen him produce. He could tell Ichigo was royally pissed. The Sexta sniffed and brought his focus back onto Urahara who had lowered his unreleased zanpakuto.

Oh yeah. Ichigo _was_ royally pissed. But it was more from being grabbed and hoisted off his feet, then tossed across the room like a newbie by the other two men that had his temper churning and a petulant glare twisting his normally boyish face. Ichigo wasn't as convinced as Urahara seemed to be that the Espada wasn't going to try and sucker punch the shopkeeper the moment he let him go. Sometimes Grimmjow could be... a special kind of stupid.

He half hoped the Espada did try to pull something, but the insolent little shit in him wanted the bastard Espada all to himself. Ichigo's blood was thrumming from the rush of Grimmjow's sudden attack, and from Urahara's painful interception. The former Shinigami was helping the wrong person. Ichigo didn't need saving. Grimmjow did.

"Yeah... Grimmjow-kun," Ichigo chimed from across the kitchen.

His jaw twitched, but the Espada's eyes never wavered from Urahara's.

"Don't worry hat'n'sandles. I can take care of _this,_" he waved a hand dismissively towards Ichigo, "easily enough without wrecking your home."

"Hah! You and what army?" Ichigo was suddenly right next to him, orange and cocky and puffed up like blow fish, his breath hot against Grimmjow's jaw.

Urahara finally saw fit to let him go completely and stepped back to watch in curiosity. This was the first time he would have seen the two interact and the scientist in him was eagerly analyzing the small nuances of their relationship, particularity the Espada.

Freed from the cane and spiritual pressure, the bluenet turned, aligning his muscled form with Ichigo's and purposefully stepping tightly, and without apology into his personal space, space that now belonged as much to Grimmjow as it did to the teen. The position allowed him to look down his smooth nose right into the storm filled eyes of the orange-haired punk.

"I'm the only army I need to kick your ass," he said with gritted teeth and menacing growl.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me!"

"So, quit talking about it then and bring it," Ichigo barked back, eyes flashing with lightening. They were chest to chest now, so close together in fact that Ichigo barely had enough room to properly scowl.

Urahara stepped back further and watched in calm fascination from behind his fan as the two men seethed at one another. The air was practically vibrating with the promise of violence, but he was too curious now to observe their behaviour. Besides, they both knew what would happen now, should they try to come to blows again.

"I've got the itch right now, bitch," Grimmjow snarled, shoulder muscles bunching and head tilting as he loomed impossibly closer. There was plenty of heat in his words, but something about the way Grimmjow had said it and the strangely carnivorous look in his blue eyes made Ichigo suddenly think less about fighting and more about fucking.

And he wasn't anybody's bitch.

That thought alone was enough to send his brain skidding off the tracks and pop the release valve on his pressure tank of a temper.

"Charming," Ichigo said flatly, as he visibly deflated.

For a moment, Grimmjow's expression turned slightly confused as Ichigo backed down. And then it grew even angrier. Ichigo was starting shit, then pussying out, again? It was becoming a very bad habit. The brat should know better than to think that this matter was anywhere near dropped.

The teen had to take a step back to fold his arms, before he snorted and abruptly unfolded them, as if he couldn't quite decide what he wanted to do. Then he pushed roughly past the other two men, moving towards the door. Grimmjow probably thought he was backing down but that was far from it. Ichigo was still good and riled, and ready for the scrap he'd promised the arrancar. Especially after today. It wasn't as if Ichigo's mood was _all_ Grimmjow's fault, but Ichigo was going to take it out on him regardless.

He stalked to the doorway without a word. They weren't going to fight here. They'd have to go downstairs. The teen glanced back at the arrancar, who had already turned, all six foot one of him thumping angrily across the floor and following Ichigo like a magnet.

"Oy! Get your ass back here."

Ichigo called back to him from over his shoulder as he passed through the door to the hallway, unable to resist needling the bluenet further, and stepping over his own discarded body as he did.

"You know, Grimmjow, in another lifetime you might have made a half decent poet."

Grimmjow's scathing reply drifted around the corner as the two men disappeared down the corridor, Grimmjow catching up in swift steps and knocking their shoulders together roughly.

"Yeah? And _you_ might have made a half decent Shinigami."

Ichigo's voice carried down the hall with a sharp, "Oy!"

Urahara raised his hand and used the back of one slender finger to tilt his hat up off his forehead, as if somehow it would offer his mind more room to solve the mystery of what had just happened, tell him how he had so easily and rather badly lost control of the situation.

There was another loud thump, like a body coming up hard against a wall, and a muffled sound of protest, followed by the soft brush of a paper door sliding open. A moment later another heavy thud drifted from inside the room, followed by the low, indistinct sounds of arguing.

The former Shinigami raised his voice from where he stood in the middle of the kitchen and held his hand beside his mouth.

"Kurosaki-san? Grimmjow-san? I really would prefer it if you didn't fight up here. You know, there's a whole basement for you to use... downstairs... for sparring... ah... boys?"

The moment the guest room door slid shut and the sounds of arguing ceased, Urahara had scrambled as fast as his clogs would allow, and rushed into the store to where his associates were hard at work. He quickly ushered them all out the front door, sending them on an errand of 'utmost urgency', before making a strategic retreat himself.

Fighting it seemed, was not the foremost thing on the boys' minds today. Young love could not be contained or controlled. Urahara would give them this one, but this was the last time he was going to allow himself to be kicked out of his own house.


End file.
